With You
by Kiyoko Usagi
Summary: When she wouldn't come with him, he decided to take her, against her will. But wills can change, surely. Set after Blackwater Battle and semi into Storm of Swords.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is not my own intellectual property and this piece of work has never and will never be used for commercial purposes.

I'll probably put song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter. They bear no significance to the story other than a theme I feel fits after I've written the chapter. Songs do not influence the piece, but I merely find it an amusing challenge to myself, and to those to guess what the theme of each chapter.

And, I know this has been written about, probably more than 5 times, but, I'm new to the fanfiction world of this series, and I've actually only read one other fanfiction of the two of them together. Suggestions would be most welcome in reviews!

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_"Only if for a night. _  
_And the only solution was to stand and fight, _  
_And my body was bruised and _  
_I was set alight, _  
_But you came over me like some holy rite."_

_Prologue-_

"Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. "You're coming with me." Sansa's eyes rounded as she felt her body lifted, like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. She squirmed and thought for a moment to shout out in protest, but something held her back. Whether it was the fear of the knife at her throat moments before, the green flames surrounding King's Landing, or the very face she seemed to fear the most, she didn't know. Her voice sealed itself far away from her, and she went limp. _'At least Joffrey can't have me…if he gets me out of here.'_

She was thrown down onto the floor, a yelp of pain escaped her lips, shattering the seal that hid her voice. Before she had a moment to realize where they had gone, he shoved a bag over her head, and engulfed her body. Squirming and panicked she tried to kick at his head as she was swung back over his shoulder. "You put me back!" You put me back now! I'll scream!"

"Scream then Little bird, see who saves you." The flat tone chilled her bones and she felt her body still either of its own accord or because fear was controlling her. She didn't know where they were going. He'd said he wanted to go north…but where? Winterfell? It was gone now. Theon Grayjoy had burned it, and her brothers… Her heart squeezed as it mourned for her younger siblings. Her rapid thinking stopped as she thought of her siblings. Most of them dead it seemed. Arya presumed dead, but at least she had escaped the terrors of the Lannisters. Sansa closed her eyes, swaying roughly and uncomfortable from side to side as the Hound continued to move throughout the night. She couldn't see anything but different colors of light from outside the bag, most of them green. Her stomach ached uncomfortably with every step he took. She felt like she was going to be sick.

They paused. Sansa couldn't even see the colors of the wild fire anymore. She could smell horses though. In a swift motion, she was sent from his shoulder to what felt like a horse. She tried to roll but he pushed on the small of her back. "Warning you, Little bird, you move and Stranger'll kick you bloody."

She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to tell him how much she hated him, yet he was doing everything she wished for. She was being taken away from this place. It wasn't the most glorious of ways, no, but at least she was finally leaving, unless he had something else in plan…

She felt him tie rope around the horse's belly and tied it tight around her waist a good several times. She curled her legs up, but her muscles were already protesting. She let them drop, and the bag caught them; hovering them awkwardly over the side of the horse. She was sure she looked quite amusing, which humiliated her.

She heard the Hound mount his horse, the leather saddle creaking a bit with the weight, and they were off into the night, to gods know where.

* * *

_Chapter One-_

She hadn't the slightest clue as to how she fell asleep, but somehow, she had managed within that musty bag to do just so. When she woke, she could see light all around her from the inside of the bag. Was it daylight? The horse moved slowly, at a walk it seemed. They must be far away now. Did the Hound ride all night? It was smart on his part, she admitted, but she still hated him for throwing her into a sack and strapping her to his horse. She fidgeted, half her body had gone numb and she wanted to cry she was so uncomfortable.

"Awake then?" he rasped, allowing a low single laugh to escape his throat.

"I want out of here…now." Her voice was stern, but he only answered with a louder laugh. She wanted to stab him. She felt the horse come to a stop, and the rope that tied her awkwardly over the horse was being loosened away. She was pulled off the horse and dropped roughly onto the ground, her dress getting mud on it. "Excuse me!"

He rolled his eyes. She went up to him, her hand raised, but as quick as lightning he'd grabbed it, his large hand encircled her wrist, crushing her wrist. She grit her teeth in pain, trying to pull away. "Best not try that again, Little bird…" he warned.

"Or what?" she fought back, after he'd released her hand. "You'll beat me? I recall you being the only one of Joffery's Kingsguard that refused to do such!"

He sneered at her, but said nothing for a moment.

She stared at him, glaring daggers.

"Finally a wolf huh?" He walked over to her, picking her up and setting her atop the large horse, before getting behind her. She didn't protest this time. A small victory was held within her heart as she looked at the bag that was now cast to the muddy ground as they cantered away.

The ride was much more comfortable without being in the bag, but she still didn't enjoy his breastplate hitting her back each time the horse moved. Still, she wouldn't complain. He was obviously more than capable of finding another way to sit two atop a horse.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Don't know."

"Then how do you know where your riding?"

"Quit yer chirping, Little bird."

She huffed in annoyance, but she remained silent for the rest of the way. Instead of focusing on his breastplate, she focused on his arms around her. They were large, and most likely toned, but she couldn't tell from all the mail and armor he wore. She knew he was strong, from his size and his brutality in tournaments, but it didn't seem to scare her as much as it had before. He'd said if anyone tried to harm her, he'd kill them… She just hoped it wasn't empty promises. She was getting quite sick of empty promises.

Night fell upon their ride, and Sandor stopped Stranger. He swung off his large stallion first, before picking Sansa up roughly and dropping her to the ground. Her legs caught her fall and she pretended to be unfazed by how he manhandled her.

"We'll sleep here tonight."

She nodded, really unsure how as he'd brought absolutely no supplies, or even bedrolls. "Should I make a fire?"

"No fires," he growled, almost too soon after her statement, that it made her recoil. He seemed to relax a bit. "It'll draw attention," he said more gently.

She sat down in front of a tree, feeling the cold earth below her, hoping her own body warmth could keep her warm tonight. They didn't even have blankets. She watched him tie up Stranger, and remove his white cloak. He threw it at her, without even as much as a glace her way.

The thick fabric smacked into her face, enveloping her arms as she tried to untangle herself.

He laughed. "Don't want you freezing now."

He'd been drunk when he decided to take her, but if he was regretting his decision she wouldn't dare ask. She turned away from him, using his cloak as a blanket as she curled into herself. She still hated him. At one point, he had given her some form of safety, when it came to Joffery, but now, she couldn't remember why she'd even felt that way for a moment. He was dangerous, erratic and unkind. Still…he'd taken her away. That in itself was him protecting her…again.

* * *

Song: Only for a Night, by Florence and the Machine


	2. Chapter 2

I won't be updating so fast as I just did. I've written out up to chapter 3 and I keep going, but I felt the first chapter had hardly anything to it, so, I put up this, to get people more into the feel of what's to come, I guess. :)

* * *

_Yes, I understand that every life must end, aw-huh,_

_ As we sit alone, _

_I know someday we must go, aw-huh,_

_Chapter Two-_

She was shivering when she woke, her breath fogging in front of her face. The dew was chilled all around, and atop the white cloak. She sat up, her body aching and screaming at her for the abuse. It wasn't really her fault though… She'd still have a nice featherbed if he hadn't taken her away from King's Landing… She looked around, not finding Sandor anywhere, but she saw Stranger, so he had to be around somewhere. She didn't want to stand, but she felt a good stretch would do her muscles a bit of justice. She shivered violently, regretting that decision immediately. She wished she could start a fire. The kindling all around would be too wet for it, and she actually had never started a fire before… She walked around the tree, spotting a fire, Sandor and a skinned rabbit that he had ripped apart, roasting small bits of it over the fire with a stick. She walked over to him, sitting across the fire, warming her fingers. He hated fire… But she would feel foolish asking him why. Probably because they had to eat?_ 'I'm so stupid…'_

Without speaking, he offered her the piece of rabbit he had been cooking over the fire, not taking his eyes off the flames as they lapped at the cold air, creating a good amount of smoke.

She gingerly took the piece off the stick, giving it a turn in her hand for a moment. "Thank you," she said.

He grunted.

She rolled her eyes, but she nibbled the meat nonetheless. It would be quite foolish to throw away food just out of spite. Sansa had no idea when she'd get another meal quite honestly. "Have you decided where we're going?" she asked.

"No."

"We could go to Robb?"

"So you can get away from me?" he spat back. "Bugger that, Little bird."

She stared at him for a long time. He seemed to sense her gaze as he fidgeted and would look at her every so often. "Why?"

He looked up at her, their eyes locking, neither wavering. "Why what?" he answered.

"You deserted. If the Lannisters ever catch you, you'll be put to death. I'm a traitor's daughter and no good to anyone. In all honestly, I'm a burden…and I'm very aware of it, so why not rid me to Robb? He'd give you a reward, I'm sure. What good am I to you?"

Sandor gnawed at his own piece of meat from the rabbit, looking at the fire. Sansa half expected him not to answer, but his reply came finally. "You're not a burden."

She felt her muscles relax. He'd avoided her question, but his statement warmed her heart just a tiny bit. She stood up, going to sit next to him. He flinched but didn't get up. Instead, he handed her another piece of the rabbit. She took it, silently thanking him with her eyes, over her voice.

They sat in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable, at least on Sansa's side. Gods knew what Sandor was thinking. Without any warning he stood up, and snuffed out the fire by kicking dirt and stomping on it. She wanted to ask if his biggest fear was fire, why he was okay with just doing that? But she decided that would ruin his semi-okay mood.

"Time to go, Little bird."

"Where though?" she asked, a bit more whine in her voice than she should have allowed.

"Do I need to shove a rope in your mouth?" he asked angrily, his voice like the edge of a sword. "Time to _go_," he said again more firmly.

She glared at him, sighing heavily. Did this man have any courtesy at all? "Wait for a moment," she said, her eyes scanning around them. She needed to find a tree large enough where he couldn't see…

"Seven hells child, for what?" He seemed to realize what she meant after he had already spoke. He nodded curtly and turned around.

She was surprised he'd given her that privacy. She ran around the tree, dealing with her dress and wishing she had other clothing as she squatted to make water. She felt disgusting. After she was finished, she stepped carefully over her expelled liquids and moved quickly back to Stranger and Sandor. "Finished…" she said awkwardly.

He turned around, jerking his head at the horse. She complied, allowing him to pick her up and place her atop Stranger. The horse huffed and stomped his foot. "Seems he likes you. Or tolerates you. Haven't decided yet."

"He's just a horse…" Sansa responded. The horse's ears lay back against his head as he huffed loudly. She suddenly felt uneasy…

"And you're just sittin' on 'em. Smart enough to knock you off." He swung up behind her, taking the reins and starting the warhorse off at a gallop.

Today as they rode to wherever it was the Hound thought they should be going, Sansa focused on the green trees, and the soft giggles of the streams they passed. Stranger had slowed down to a gate between a canter and a trot, making Sansa crash into the Hound's body with each move of the black horse's shoulders. The man didn't seem to mind though, and Sansa wasn't going to accommodate him, as he had done hardly anything for him… _'Aside from rescue me from Joffery, give me a his cloak to use, and feed me…'_

They stopped by a river, Sandor got off Stranger and picked Sansa up again and off the horse. She was ready this time for his sudden drop, but it never came. He set her gentle on the ground and without saying anything, led his horse to the river to drink. Sansa wanted to jump into the water and bathe! She moved closer, figuring she could at least run some water through her hair and face. She kneeled next to the water, moving a stick that was lodged out of her way, she screamed violently, standing but falling over as a soggy, bloated face came up to greet her.

Sandor was by her in a flash, but when he saw the corpse he just laughed. "Pretty bird scared of a dead man eh?" He continued to chortle. "Get used to it. Bodies all up and down this river."

"Which river is this?" she asked, standing and brushing the dirt off her dress, but it really didn't do much. She had mud stains all the way up to her waist.

"Still Blackwater, but we're closer to Harrenhal. Bodies come down from that place all the time. Commonfolk, usually."

"So, we've been heading northwest?"

"Smarter than your average bird huh? Aye, but we'll stay clear of Harrenhal. Want no part of that bloody place."

"My brother's bannermen have taken it over though."

"Think they'd graciously give you over to their _king_?" He spat the word with as much vile as he could muster, which was enough to make Sansa step back. "You'd be lucky if they let you keep your maidenhood."

"That's not true! They're Robb's! They're good people!" she defended.

He took a step forward at her, his face tinted red with anger. "Are you really such a fool Little bird? The Kingsguard are supposed to be "nice people" too! With great _honor_." He laced that word with venom as well, spreading his arms to display more sarcasm. "Yet they beat you bloody whenever Joffery gave the word. Save yourself before you get yourself killed. No one's good."

"Maybe not to you…" she said softly, yet with daggers in her words as she crossed her arms and looked away. She didn't know the expression on his face, but she was sure if she looked, she would recoil.

He moved away, stomping as he went back to his horse who had gone down the river a bit, grazing lazily.

She exhaled deeply, feeling worn from that encounter. She honestly expected him to leave her as he mounted his horse, but he came back for her all the same. He grabbed her roughly, pulling her up. He remained silent.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for the kind reviews (yesterday, haha) It's encouraging to see support, as well as the story alerts! I'm probably updating this too quickly, but I feel that too long in between updates, and people lose interest? Maybe that's just me. I'm not entirely sure. I'll quit blabbering now.

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_Did you come here for a pie, sir?_  
_Do forgive me if me head's a little vague -_  
_Ugh! What is that?_  
_But you think we had the plague!_

_Chapter Three-_

Sansa watched as the Hound terrorized a farmer. Frankly, he deserved it. He was charging eight silver stags for two apples. Even out here, people seemed just as cold and slimy, like Varys, back in King's Landing. Sansa had never been treated so horribly before she left Winterfell. Winterfell was full of good people. They were good! No matter what Sandor said. She knew people could be good. She clutched his white cloak that was wrapped around her shoulders as the wind gave a long sigh, chilling her spine.

Her blue eyes followed the Hound as he grabbed the apples and trudged back to her and Stranger. The horse jerked his head to the apples, but Sandor pushed his head away. "Here're your bloody apples." He shoved them at her torso, as she fumbled her arms to catch them. She sighed in annoyance. All she had said, was that she was craving an apple. It didn't mean to out of the way to find one…

She held the two apples, one had a bit of rot on it, but the other was nice enough. "Would you like one? You paid for them…" she said, turning toward him as he allowed Stranger to graze a bit. She offered up the better apple.

He seemed to know about the rot, for he gave her a quizzical look before hesitantly pushing the apple back at her. "I'll take the other one, if you don't mind…"

"It's a bit mushy though…"

"Exactly why you shouldn't be eating it." He snatched it from her hand, mumbling to himself, but she heard him all the same, "Fucking eight stags… I'll kill him and his whole family. "Support the king and his and me and mine," he says. Bloody bastard."

Sansa couldn't help but smile at him. "Which king? Does he know you're the King's Hound?"

"Soon the whole world will know I'm not the King's Hound. He knew me well enough. Probably why he robbed me blind." He bit into the apple.

Sansa watched how he chewed for a moment. It really was like a dog. He always ate as if he hadn't had food in days. While on their travels, they hadn't been eating much, but she seemed to never go too hungry for long. Sandor was an excellent hunter, which again, didn't surprise Sansa. They mostly ate meat, which was better than most could say back in King's Landing, but she was quite grateful to be eating an apple and not a dead rabbit or deer for once.

"What?" he growled.

She blinked, realizing she had still been staring. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't…" She looked away, nibbling on her apple.

"You even eat like a bird…" he sneered, throwing the apple core as hard as he could at the farmer. The man shouted in pain, and whipped his horses to move faster. Sandor stood there laughing. "Bloody fool. He's going to get murdered if he makes way for the Kingsroad."

"Maybe he won't?"

Sandor stared at her. The weight of his gaze made her uneasy and she looked away. "He'll be gutted and fed to the bloody wolves for those apples. Even if they're squishy."

They still had been headed northwest. Last Sansa had heard, Robb was still at Riverrun and if they kept this way, that's where they'd eventually be. She wouldn't dare speak about that though. Maybe the Hound didn't know where he was going? Or maybe he very much did…

It didn't take long for Sansa to get used to Sandor's hateful words and rough attitude whilst on the road. She had put up with it before, back at King's Landing, but then she was frightened of him, and she could always run from him. She had been standing up quite well for herself out here, even if it seemed to make him absolutely angry. They had their moments though. Him getting her apples was one of them…

They rode in silence. Sansa had long since stopped sitting up properly and would often slouch back into Sandor's chest. He never seemed to mind, and so she wouldn't change her habit of it now. As they rode, they stuck to the thicker forests and never went to any roads. Sansa was beginning to miss even King's Landing. There was no privacy out here, and at times, it proved to be most awkward. Sandor trusted her enough to allow her to go off when she had to "do her business." But that was the only time she was ever alone. She missed her needlework, or just walking about the Red Keep. It was so…boring out here. Sandor didn't make for amusing company either.

Stranger stopped moving, jerking his head up a few times. Sansa knitted her brow, turning to look as best as she could at the Hound. He seemed as on edge as the horse did. Without speaking, he pushed her off the horse with him, hiding her behind a tree. He pulled Stranger back as well, but anyone would be able to see a horse his size. They stayed silent, as voices became louder. Sansa felt like she was going to puke. Her breath came in short gasps as her eyes were glued to where the sounds seemed to be coming from.

"Children…" Sandor said, his body relaxing.

Sansa did as well. She leaned against the tree, rolling her head against it and looking up to the sky, saying a silent prayer of thank you to the old gods.

"We're not far from a village, my guess. Fancy a bed tonight, Little bird?"

"This better not be a cruel jape, or I may have to find a way to kill even you." Her words were playful, and her full lips spread into a pouted smile.

He snorted lightly, nodding in acceptance, flashing a crooked smile that made Sansa's heart flutter…until shock took over.

She replayed that face in her mind over and over as they made their way to the village. The burns on his face, that usually made her find him so ugly, didn't seem to bother her, and his smile... He had good teeth, and seemed to have all of them from what she could tell, which was saying something. She closed her eyes, thinking of him again, feeling her heart leap and butterflies appear in her stomach.

This was absurd! She sat up straight, taking her weight off the Hound as they rode together. She wished she could have her own horse… He shifted in the saddle. She prayed it wasn't because he noticed her abrupt straightening and just cause he had to. He had never seemed the type to notice other's feelings anyway. _'Except he spent eight stags on two apples…for me.'_

The village appeared as they rode over a hill. "They better have some bloody wine…" he rasped as Stranger trotted down the hill. The village sported no banners, and they gave Sandor and Sansa very wary looks, but said nothing to them.

"Do you think they know who you are?" she asked.

"Fuck if I care. My coin spends just as good as theirs…"

Sandor led Sansa to the tavern after tying Stranger up in front. He made sure the horse was in his line of sight, even through the windows.

They seated themselves at a table, and a serving girl came out of nowhere it seemed to Sansa, to greet them. "Can we help you ser?"

Sansa watched the flicker of hate race across the Hound's eyes, but he gave her no correction. "Food and drink." He put his coin purse on the table. Sansa figured it was to gain trust.

"We've got some good ale. Bit of mead, but no wine. Our shipments have been getting ransacked of late. We've got some good mince meat pies though!"

"Oh, please," Sansa said, before the Hound could insult the poor girl. "I'd like one." Her blue eyes settled on the Hound's face.

He nodded at her.

"Aye, me as well, and two pints of ale. Piss on mead."

The girl blinked, seemingly startled at his comment before she scurried off back into the kitchen.

"Why do you…not like mead?" Sansa asked, filtering her words.

"Too sweet," Sandor said, shrugging. "You're lips are cracked."

Sansa was startled by the sudden comment. She brought her fingers up to her mouth, feeling the dried out skin of her lips. She sucked them into her mouth, wetting them as best she could. "Your beard is getting long," she replied.

Sandor laughed. "'Supose I'll shave it then, Little bird."

His voice was like smooth chocolate, with just a hint of something bitter, but not necessarily unpleasant, like a strong tea. When he wasn't screaming or insulting, his deep, rumbling voice was something she wished to hear more of. _'No…stop this now. Stupid girl.'_ She sucked her lips in again, licking at them in hopes of smoothing them a bit, but really to rid her mind of Sandor, even if he was right there.

She watched him pick at his fingernails, it was honestly something she felt was a filthy habit, as her mother always said it was rude in company, but when was the Hound anything but rude? She opted to brush out her hair with her fingers. It felt so gross. But it seemed that many of the villagers didn't bathe much either. Some of them even had dirt on their faces. She wondered if she had dirt on her face.

"Will we always just be running?" she asked.

He sighed, rolling his eyes, but before he had the chance to say something, she interrupted. "I'm sorry. I just…feel so out of place. I miss people, and beds, and…bathing."

His anger quickly turned to amusement as he laughed at her ramblings. She was beginning to enjoy that laugh.

"Can get that all here," he stated. "Best you do. Don't know when you'll get another bath. You stink."

She rounded her mouth out in mock-shock. "Sandor Clegane!" she exclaimed. That drew a few eyes to them. She instantly felt bad for saying his name so loud. But he didn't even bat an eye. Then again, he was in his armor still. She honestly did wonder how bad he stunk under it all. "And you don't?"

"You don't seem to complain," he shot back, a taunting grin on his misshapen lips.

"You're terrible." There was no malice in her words, and her smile was large enough for the men in the corner to see, she was sure. Yet even if they were giving her lusty stares, and smiling at her with mouths as black as their hair, she felt completely safe. _'He said he'd kill for you…"_

When they were served their food, Sansa had never eaten so fast before. She could feel the Hound staring at her, but she didn't care. She was so hungry!

"Wonder if they used dead men for this meat…"

She instantly stopped eating. "What?" she asked, her eyes round.

"So many dead out there left to rot. Not much meat around. How did they get meat if their shipments ain't coming in?"

Sansa pushed the food away, feeling as if she was going to puke.

"I'm kidding, Little bird…Eat your food."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "That wasn't funny…" She flung a bit of her mince pie at him. She giggled as she watched the meat slip down his breastplate.

"Think that's funny eh?" he questioned, his voice rough as he picked up the bit she'd flung and flicked it back at her. It landed in her hair.

She yelped as it hit her, laughing as she wove her fingers into her hair, trying to clean the meat from the auburn locks.

"Least you don't smell so bad now. Smell like meat." They both laughed.

The tavern felt awfully quiet , and Sansa could feel glares and stares coming from everyone, even the serving girl who'd been so nice to them, even if she was just doing her job. She at least didn't run them out of town. "I feel…"

"Uneasy?" he finished for her, his voice low and barely above a whisper.

"Yes. They're all watching us."

"You announced my name to the whole seven kingdom, girl. It's me they're staring at. Not you." He stuck his fork angrily into his pie and shoveled the food into his mouth.

"It doesn't bother you?" she asked.

"Does it you?"

"Yes."

He raised his brows nodding. So it did bother him… She ate the rest of her food quietly, trying to shrug off the feeling of being watched. She took a few sips of the ale, but found she had no taste for it, so Sandor happily downed both pints for them. He paid the serving girl for the food.

"We'd like a place to stay for the night," he told the serving girl.

Sansa watched her fidget, looking back at the kitchens and back to those in the tavern. "We've got some rooms available. But they don't come cheap. Times is hard."

Sandor sighed. "And how much would that be?"

"A gold dragon."

"Bloody fucking seven hells." He looked back to Sansa. "I'm going to be broke cause of you."

She felt extremely guilty. "We don't have to stay…" she began to say.

"Here girl. Better heat up some bathwater for the little bird." He handed the serving girl the gold, and she nodded happily.

"Of course, ser! Right away."

* * *

Song: Worst Pies in London, by Stephen Sondheim

Song in previous chapter: Just Breathe by Pearl Jam


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you for your reviews and the story alerts! They make me comfortable with knowing someone beside myself is at least enjoying this. :)

* * *

_We were hoping for some romance  
All we found was more despair  
We must talk about our problems  
We are in a state of Flux  
_

_Chapter Four-_

They were shown to their room, and the girl had informed Sansa her bath water would be up soon. "They robbed you again, didn't they?" Sansa asked as they walked into the room. The bed was big enough for the two of them, but Sansa secretly hoped Sandor wouldn't sleep there… However, she'd be in denial if she told anyone her reasoning wasn't cause she didn't want him there. She just couldn't _have_ him there…

"It's my bloody armor. A lone man in mail with a girl is harmless, no matter who you are."

"Why?"

"I can't take on an entire village by myself. They'd kill _you_ first."

Sansa nodded. "You need other clothes then…"

"Aye."

"Perhaps, I could go to their tailor and inquire? Just me though. So they don't see you?" she offered. It was the least she could do. However upon thinking of her statement, she hadn't meant it to encompass all of him, just his knightly appearance. She instantly regretted her hastened words. She had feared him once, but the small things he'd done for her since, and the very fact she was here with him and not with Joffrey had melted those worries, she didn't wish to insult a man she did not fear, nor hated.

"Pretty face like yours, maybe he'd give you them free." He laughed softly at his own joke, lying back on the bed, raising his hands above his head so they dangled over the other side.

Sansa was aware he was tall, but seeing him like that. She noticed he was extremely tall. He was nothing like his brother, but he was still taller than any average man. He made her feel so little, even if she was supposedly tall for her own age.

"What will you do when the bath water gets here?" she asked.

"Go back downstairs and drink," he answered gruffly.

She bunched up her lips, to the side as she thought on his statement. "You were always drinking."

"Pissing away misery, Little bird. Sometimes not figuratively."

She stood in the corner of the room, leaning on the wall, but she really wished she could be on that bed. She felt so tired. She was sure he did too though. He'd been the one getting them here, after all. "You say some of the most disgusting things." Hers was a statement, but she was curious if he'd come back at her with an insult.

"Honesty," was all he responded with.

"There's a difference between being honest and being too revealing."

"You just like to put me down, don't you, Little bird." He sat up, his gaze heavy, and cold.

"That's not…I didn't mean…"

"Chirp, chirp, chirp," he interrupted. "Best scrub hard. You smell like a sewer rat. Look almost like one too."

She could feel her face heat up with anger. But he was already to the door and leaving. She sighed heavily. How could she be developing feelings for him? He was vile, rude, inconsiderate, and a plethora of more negative traits. She felt tears prick at her eyes. She wanted to be home. She wanted to see her brother, Robb and her mother. They were together while she remains here, a prisoner still.

A rapping was heard at the door, and she stood to allow the serving girl in with the hot water. The girl poured the water into the wooden tub in the corner of the room. She handed Sansa a bar of soap and a small bottle of perfumed soap for her hair. "S'from your…friend. Paid extra for it."

'_I'll bet he did that as a joke to say that I really, really stunk.'_ She grabbed the bottle from the girl, a bit quicker than she had meant to, but thanked her kindly for her troubles. Sansa wasted no time, stripping down to nothing and leaping into the water. It was lukewarm, at best, which annoyed her but she wasted no time thinking about it. She scrubbed at her body furiously till she was pink. The water was cold by the time she was finished cleaning off her body, and it had turned to a light, murky color with the soap and dirt mixed together. She got out of the water, dried off with the towel that had been resting on the tub prior to the water being filled in and stared at her ruined dress. She looked back to the water and shrugged. Sandor would most likely be drinking all night, and she wanted a clean dress again!

She dumped the dress into the water, scrubbing at it as best she could with the soap and rubbing it against itself so suds would grow from the moist fabric. She dunked it over and over again, wringing it out, looking at the stains and repeating process. Her hair was nearly dry by the time she felt it was clean enough. She wanted new clothing too…

She opened the window, shyly peaking around to see if anyone was looking at her naked form, and resting the dress just a bit over the side to dry. She wrapped her towel around her body, sitting on the bed and looking outside. She wondered if Sandor would come up here intoxicated, or if he'd have the decency to pass out somewhere in the streets like he occasionally did back in King's Landing. She lay back on the bed, closing her eyes, but instead of napping, she plunged deep into sleep.

In her dreams, she was at her wedding. Everyone was smiling and congratulating her, yet she didn't know whom her betrothed was. She danced with the faceless men who asked her to dance, but she never found her husband within those dances. Someone shouted it was time for the bedding. She turned, and saw her betrothed finally. His scared face in a twisted, hungry smile. "I'll have that song now…" he said, with a voice low, rasping and full of lust. What terrified her more, was she could feel her own loins yearning for him.

She shot up in the bed, shivering from the open window and wearing nothing as the towel had slipped from her body. She was alone. Her lower region still pulsated from her dream. She shifted awkwardly, not really understanding the sensation. Joffery never made her feel like this. It ached, but she didn't seem to mind it. She pulled in her dress, slipping it on and awkwardly lacing it in the back as best she could. It still had a few stains but it didn't look like she'd been rolling in mud anymore.

Sansa looked over to the bath. The water was a heavy brown now. Pity to the one who had to empty that. The sun was setting; purples and pinks bled into each other as the sun set behind the hills of Westeros. She wondered if the tailor would still be in his shop, or if he'd gone home. Still, she'd like to get out of this room and look around a bit. She went downstairs, seeing Sandor with a group of men, all laughing. Well, minus Sandor, he'd grin, but it looked more like a sneer. Apparently drunken stupors made them forget who he was… She was glad though. She asked the serving girl where the tailor was, and went on her way.

His shop wasn't far from the tavern, just a few buildings down. She went up to the door just as a man with a stringy, gray beard was leaving. "Closed, child," he said.

"Oh. May I come back tomorrow then?"

He studied her for a moment. "What's a girl like you, in a dress like that, doing here?"

She fidgeted for a moment, trying to come up with something to say. "I'm just traveling. I was going to inquire about getting some clothing for my…" she paused, what was Sandor? They had never discussed what they'd have to pretend to be. "Uncle." She couldn't say husband, that would draw too much attention and not only that, but it'd make for an awkward conversation later.

"How tall is he?" the man asked, scratching at his chin, his beard swaying as he did so.

"Very tall."

"I'll need measurements, girl."

"Six and a half feet? Maybe closer to six and nine inches."

"Five and nine are a far way to go child, but tell you what. You seem so lost, come in, and we'll look at some fabric."

"I don't have much money… So, please something cheap."

The man looked at her for a bit, but his eyes seemed much more intelligent than to fit a tailor. "You look like a girl who has a story."

"No story, just an uncle who needs clothing."

"Why doesn't his wife make it for him?" the man asked.

"Dead."

"Why don't you?"

"We don't live here. We're traveling," Sansa felt like she wanted to tell him nevermind and make Sandor come back the next day, but she didn't want to disappoint. She…wanted to make Sandor happy; a thought that made her stomach flip with excitement and her mind cringe.

The man's eyes softened and he opened the door to the shop with his key. "Come in then. I think I've got just what you're searching for."

He led her over to a mannequin, pulling off the jerkin. "This is too big for the average man, but it may fit your uncle. I've got it really just for show, but for you, I'd give it for free, on one condition."

"This condition being?" She found herself backing away from him.

"I want to meet your uncle."

"Why?" she asked, suddenly a bit wary of him.

"Men that big aren't common. Want to get my measurements right incase another comes by! Won't be giving all my goods for free!" She could tell it was a lie by the way his gray eyes beheld her. He knew something she wasn't going to get out of him easily.

He placed the black jerkin in her arms, and moved over to his premade shirts made of linen and cotton. He twirled his fingers into his beard, as he looked over the shirts. "This one." He pulled up the black shirt.

"Why all black?" Sansa asked.

"When you've got something to hide, Lady Stark, black is the best color for you."

She gasped. He knew! "W-what do you mean? I'm not the Lady Stark!"

"Hush child, you think this village supports Joffery? You're close to Riverrun, you know. King Robb's your brother. I'd like it if you got back to him. I've got a dress that may fit you as well. It's gray and white, but at least you'll have a change of clothes. Judging by that dress, you aren't carrying much."

She felt relief wash over her. They were close to Riverrun! Her mother, Robb, she'd be home soon if they kept going this way. However, why were they going this way? Was Sandor really going to give her back, and he had just not told her? A bit of sadness came to her. She tried to fight it off, but her mind betrayed her as she thought back on her dream…

"Here you are," he said, bringing the dress out to her. It was a simple dress, certainly not for a highborn girl, but that's why it was perfect.

"Thank you," she said softly, taking the dress. The fabric was smooth, but certainly not the silks she was used to.

"Not the prettiest, but it's durable, Lady Stark. I'm also aware your uncle, took the black, and the other dead. So, if I may be so bold, who is your "uncle?"

"You'd be quite surprised. Sandor Clegane, actually." She folded the black tunic and the jerkin, placing them on a counter as she folded up the dress. The man's quietness wasn't noticed till she finally looked up at him. His face white.

"Sir?"

"The Hound's betrayed his king, aye? Strange times just keep getting stranger."

"He's saved me, many times from the Lannisters. I trust him." Did she really? She had claimed to hate him at the start of this journey. He'd stolen her away, against her will, but was it really so? She had wanted to leave. Still, she was resolved in standing up for him, even if she secretly resented herself for it.

"Is he taking you home, Lady Stark?"

"Yes," she lied.

If he noticed, he stayed silent on the matter, as he brought out another dress, this one completely black. "For a girl in mourning, usually. But for you, it may serve better for a girl in hiding."

"Sir, you don't have to give me all these."

"Lady Stark, your father was kind to our village. I'll see that debt repaid now," he said firmly, but his voice was gentle, like a strong, steady current. "Oh, and maybe these will do Ser Clegane as well." He went briskly behind his workstation and pulled out a simple pair of black pants. "They'll fit him. The man who bought them didn't quite live up to the inseam, if you know what I mean."

She wanted to ask when her father had been here, but she also wanted to leave. Ned Stark had passed through here at one point. If the man said it, it must have been true. Maybe during the rebellion.

"I don't know what you mean, but thank you, sir," Sansa said bowling politely to him.

"Thank _you_, Lady Stark. See that you and Ser Clegane are safe on your travels, till you get back to King Robb."

Sansa stopped at the door, a small smile on her face as she said, "He's no ser…"

She walked back to the tavern by the light of the torches as night had cast its heavy shadows on the world. The tavern was populated and noisy. She saw Sandor still with those men from earlier, but women had joined them, yet he didn't have a woman on his lap, but he didn't seem sour about it. A bit of guilt hit at her heart as she thought of the other men going to bed a woman tonight, but he wouldn't. It wasn't his fault he was mutilated. He would have been rather handsome, if his brother hadn't shoved his head into the flame. Age, tragedy and bitterness had clouded his face, turning him ugly, yet Sansa was beginning to see beyond those things, and to the Sandor underneath all the layers of hatred.

A woman bumped into on the stairway. "Watch yerself girl! I'm drinkin!"

Sansa nodded and stopped her staring and went up the stairs at a brisk pace. She went into their room, lighting a candle with the matches provided for light. She sat in the dark, looking at the two dresses. She wanted to try them on, even if they weren't as magical as the dresses she'd been given in King's Landing. She first slipped the gray and white one on. The gray made her hips look smaller, while the white color flowered around her from her hips down throughout the skirt. She actually enjoyed it. She slipped out of it and into the black dress. It was quite flattering, but it hid her breasts, which she didn't mind too much. It wasn't like she needed anyone staring at them anyway.

She slept in her washed dress, even though it was quite a mess underneath the blankets, but she wouldn't risk getting down to her small clothes and having Sandor see her like that. She rested on the bed, feeling the hay as it poked at her skin. She missed featherbeds. Her eyes closed and sleep came all the same, bringing dreams of delight mixed with horror as she realized she couldn't stop herself from falling for Sandor Clegane.

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Song: Flux by Bloc Party

And I do apologize for not enough Sandor... XD


	5. Chapter 5

So, POV change... Don't know how well I pulled it off. It was fun at least. Thank you all again for the reviews, faves and alerts. It's very kind.

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_Practiced all my sins, never gonna let me win, uh-huh_  
_Under everything, just another human being, uh-huh_  
_I don't wanna hurt, there's so much in this world to make me bleed_

_Stay with me_  
_You're all I see..._

_Chapter Five-_

He felt like someone had pissed in his mouth, and sent him for an excursion beyond the wall. Sandor opened his eyes, growling as the sun glared down upon him. He felt something hit his face, light and a bit scratchy. "Seven blood hells," he cursed as he looked up at Stranger, the horse's tail swayed gently above him. So he'd passed out in the stables. He hoped Sansa was still in bed, and not halfway to Riverrun by now. He'd drag her back here so he could get a point across.

The Hound sat up, groaning as his muscles protested. He was still in his armor. Only the gods knew how badly he stunk underneath the murky steel of his plating. He wouldn't dare take it off unless it was to bathe. He'd given Sansa enough trouble about that the day before, even if it was in jest. He hoped she knew the shampoo bottle was part of the ploy… If she thanked him, he'd certainly tell her then.

Yawning, he swished his tonged around in his mouth, still tasting piss and morning breath. He needed to wash his mouth out. Standing up, and removing the hay from his unwashed hair, he made for the tavern, asking for milk and some eggs, of which they both had, surprisingly. Seemed this village was hardly touched, minus the raids on their wine… If there were gods, they clearly hated Sandor Clegane. Not that he minded that, he hated them too.

Maybe that's why the villagefolk weren't so afraid of him, or maybe that was exactly why they _were_ afraid. He let out a bitter laugh. As if King Joffery would be so stupid as to send a single man to raid a village. Sure, they were all laughing last night, but when sobriety hit them again… He was sure the stares and the comments would come back with a vengeance. He ate in silence, glaring at anyone who dared look his way and sneering at children. One actually cried.

After he was finished, he climbed the stairs and opened the door to the room he'd pretty much bought for Sansa. He felt a bit of anger surge through him as he remembered how expensive it was. "Fuckers…" he mumbled as he went into the room. The bath was still full of deep brown water. Was she really that dirty? But on the side Sansa wasn't sleeping, were a black tunic, a jerkin, black simple pants and two dresses. He raised a brow in astonishment. How did she even manage to get that?

He looked at her sleeping form, noticing the dirt was gone from her face and her hair was only unruly from sleeping. He shrugged to himself, feeling his muscles protest. He wanted out of his bloody armor. He wanted a bath most of all… Seeing her so clean and as beautiful as she'd been when he first looked upon her, made him awfully self-conscience suddenly. _'Not that she'd ever come to find you comely, dog.'_ He left the room before he threw something and woke her.

The hound grumbled for a bar of soap, paying a half penny for it and making his way to the large creek that'd open into the Blackwater further down. He stripped himself of his armor, even disgusted with himself for how bad he smelled. The water was ice cold, but he grunted through it. Needles felt like they were pressing against his skin, poking him over and over, but he had to be a bit optimistic, at least it wasn't fire. He scrubbed hard at his body, wincing as he went over wounds not done healing or when muscles stretched too far. After he was finished, he looked at his armor, sighing as he had to put it on again.

He felt better, after having scrubbed his body nearly raw, but he still felt like no matter how clean he got, he'd never be clean enough for _her_. Anger boiled within his stomach and he felt like he'd lose his food. Those eggs wouldn't taste so good a second time…

He continued on, stomping into the earth, his eyes fixed on the tavern. "Good day to you, Ser," a man with a stringy beard said. He had a queer smile about his face. Sandor only grunted at him.

He walked into the tavern, up the stairs and into his room, finding Sansa awake and trying to brush out her hair.

"I got you some clothes!" she announced almost too happily. "The tailor was very nice. He gave me all this free."

"Suck his cock as payment?" Sandor asked gruffly, leaning against the wall.

She furrowed her brow. She looked so beautiful, even when angry. "No… I would never do such a thing."

Sandor wanted to ask then how she obtained three outfits, but decided against it. She was going to be seething over that comment for a good hour.

"I'm going to get supplies. What do you want?" He asked, looking everywhere but at her.

"W-what I want?"

"The little bird mimics what she hears…" he growled. "I'll assume you want a comb for your hair?"

She looked startled, when he finally looked at her again. Of course she was startled. He didn't need a mirror to know he was ugly.

"That'd be nice, actually. A bar of soap, maybe too? So we can bathe in the rivers?"

He imagined the two of them, naked as the day they were born, together in the river It made his cock twitch, and that wasn't something he needed to be thinking about right now. "Aye, anything else?" He shifted his weight, making himself look as if he were annoyed with her, but honestly, he'd never be annoyed with her. Sure, she could say stupid things, but she was as gentle as a fawn and as lovely as a sapphire. It simply hurt to be around her, knowing she was unobtainable, but he needed to be near her. He clearly liked punishing himself.

"Food?"

"I'm not stupid. I figured on getting that already. Break your fast and wait for me here." He threw a few silver stags at her, but she obviously didn't catch them as they went crashing to the ground. He hoped she was smart enough to find them all. He'd be sour about that if he just pissed away money…

Like he had last night… But drinking was his vice and he indulged it frequently.

He went about gathering supplies. Leather bags to strap across Stranger, food, water, ale, a lot of ale, that fucking bar of soap, of which he actually decided on getting three in case they lost one or gods forbid, she had to use the same one he did… He purchased some blankets and a bedroll for her. He didn't give a rat's ass about sleeping on the cold earth.

After he'd gotten everything, he saw that man with the stringy beard walking into the tailor's shop. "So he's the tailor. Go fucking figure," he growled to himself. Judging by the way he'd greeted him earlier, he knew whom he was with. He'd have to talk to Sansa about that later. "Little bird can't keep her fucking mouth shut…" he mumbled.

He found her at the tavern, laughing about who cares what with the serving girl, whom recoiled to the kitchen upon his arrival. That only made him more pissed off. "Got everything. Let's go."

"Don't you want to change first?" Sansa asked.

"You've still got your room for a few more hours, ser," the serving girl squeaked.

"I'm not a knight," he spat at her, going up the stairs and grabbing the clothing from Sansa almost too violently. She had recoiled, just like the serving girl, which only made him hate himself more. Why couldn't he just…stop? She'd been nothing but kind to him, even getting him a change of clothes, but he insisted on mistreating her with every breath. _'You're a bloody fool, acting like a scorned bitch.'_ He continued to curse at himself in thought as he tugged on the clothing. Surprisingly, it all fit, but his plated boots were a bit funny with the soft fabric, but he really couldn't care less about that.

He folded up his armor, breaking it apart and putting it into a leather satchel that he'd swing around Stranger when they finally made their way out of this shithole. He came down the stairs, and could have sworn he saw Sansa's eyes light up.

"You look," she said, with a smile before allowing it to fade as she clearly was thinking of something else to say. "Well."

"…Well?" he questioned. It was better than ugly, hideous or like a monster, he guessed. At least she tried to give him a compliment at all. He looked at her, in her gray and white gown, his mouth twitching against his will. She looked lovely, as always, but he certainly wasn't going to say that to her. Especially in front of the serving girl who was probably trying to figure out just what the hell he was doing with her.

"Let's go." He grabbed her elbow roughly and pulled her along.

They rode up in the forest, still heading northwest. At this point, they would reach Acorn Hall within a day or two and then what next? He was going to avoid Acorn Hall as it was, but, where to go? Riverrun was up here, as was Sansa's family. He wanted to be selfish and turn them into the mountains of the Westerlands, but he knew better. She needed to go home. He assumed she was right, about Robb rewarding him. Maybe even give him a place to fight again. Seven hells, at least this time he could actually fight his brother for a _reason_; and that be because they' be on legitimate opposite 'd been so lost in thought he was glad Stranger was used to leading the way as it was, for he wasn't paying the least bit of attention right now.

"Tell me something about yourself," Sansa said suddenly. "Like, what do you like doing, besides killing…" She didn't seem too pleased with saying the last bit.

"Stealing little girls from their beds, apparently seems to be a new favorite," he answered bitterly. Yet despite his jab, she laughed all the same.

He loved hearing her laugh. It was like a symphony of birds on a spring morning.

"No, something serious!" she said, still gleeful from his sarcasm.

"Drinking?" he offered.

"You don't like anything? Reading? Star gazing? Archery, even?"

"Archery's for bastards and whelps," he spat. "And I shit on star gazing."

"You haven't insulted reading yet…" Sansa said, yet her voice seemed less than pleased with the direction of this conversation.

'_Indulge her for a moment you bastard!'_ "It's fine, I suppose."

"Do you have a favorite book?"

Oh this was getting annoying now… "Little bird…" he said exasperated, but before he had a second to finish, she was already chirping in.

"Why don't you ever say my name?"

The question offset him for a moment, but he was able to respond easily enough. "Why don't you ever say mine?"

"Because I'm not supposed to?"

"Who says?" he retorted.

"I…I'm not sure. It's just how things are. You were part of the kingsguard. You should have been a ser. Yet you're not. You're quite perplexing."

"Big word for such a small bird," he stated flatly.

"Yet you seemed to understand it just fine, dog."

The jab was only enough to make him notice it. He looked down at that auburn hair, flowing softly in the wind. She smelled faintly of the scented oil he'd paid for her to bathe in: lavender. "Aye, smarter than your average hound."

"That's why you're not just a hound…You're _The_ Hound."

It was honestly the nicest compliment he'd ever received in his life. But instead of messing up with some snide remark, he stayed silent, wishing he could nuzzle into her neck, or hold her tighter than he had to with holding Stranger's reins.

"You sleep well last night?" he asked after an awkward moment of silence, at least on his end.

"I did, thank you. And you? Where did you even sleep?"

"Stranger and me seem to be good bed buddies," he said patting the horse on the neck. The move made him push his chest against her back, but she only seemed to settle into him more when he sat back up.

"You love your horse?" she asked, giving the horse a scratch behind the ear. Stranger seemed to like it, as he didn't try anything funny, or even press his ears back.

"Love's a funny word, Little bird."

"You don't believe in it?" she asked.

"No." Lies. Such outrageous lies he almost was sick of himself. He of course believed in love, he just felt undeserving of it. Especially from a girl like Sansa Stark. She was the epitome of perfection and here he was, oversized, mutilated and more than twice her age.

They stayed silent for a long time after that. He saw the acorns dotting the ground as they continued onward. _'Shit. We're making better timing than I thought.'_ They'd be upon Acorn Hall by nightfall it seemed.

"I'm taking you back to Robb," he said suddenly. "With any luck, he'll trust me enough to let me fight for him." After a long pause, Sandor looked down his nose at the girl. She seemed to have not even heard him. "Little bird?"

"You'd do that? Fight for Robb?"

"What else am I going to bloody do? Be a farmer? Fisherman? _Tailor_?" He spat each trade, adding more anger as he went along. "Not bloody likely. I'd rather die a spear up my arse."

"You say such filthy things," Sansa said.

"Men say such filthy things. Best you learn now, girl. Before your husband talks of your tits and how he likes to fuck them." He felt her muscles tighten, but her silence spoke louder than any words she could muster. He'd crossed a line, and he was damn aware of it. He wanted to apologize, or say anything that would get him out of the hole he'd buried himself in, but nothing he thought of sounded good enough, and if it did, he was honestly too afraid to speak it. So, he stayed silent, figuring the sooner they got to Riverrun, the better. At least there, she'd be safe again, with those who loved her. She wouldn't give him a second thought once she saw her shattered family again… Not even a second thought.

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Song: Just Breathe by Pearl Jam


	6. Chapter 6

I'm very glad you all enjoyed Sandor's POV. I'll be sure to do more of his view now then. Thank you for the reviews, faves and alerts, very much. They are very encouraging, and very kind. This is a tiny disclaimer, I have no idea how long this will be. I continue to write it with a direction I'd like it to go. Certainly not _passed_ Storm of Swords, but, there will be spoilers in here. If you've not read Storm of Swords, I'd suggest holding off on further chapters. This chapter is 10 pages long... I apparently had a lot to say. Dear goodness.

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_Don't grow up too fast_  
_ And don't embrace the past_  
_ This life's too good to last_  
_ And i'm too young to care_

_Chapter Six-_

They stopped to make camp that evening when the sun gave subtle hints of falling from the sky to give night its time. Sansa hadn't spoken to the Hound since their spat. She kept her arms crossed over her chest, hiding her breasts, but it only gave way to a growing cleavage. Good, if he looked he'd know what he wasn't getting. That thought even made her feel sick. She didn't want him to look upon her like that. She wanted him to look with eyes full of admiration and love, not lust, even if it made her loins excited, even for a moment. She leaned against a tree, feeling an acorn at her back. There were so many acorns!

"Where are we?" she asked. She had a good idea, actually, but she wanted to feign innocence.

"Away from Harrenhal," Sandor answered as he hit two flint pieces together, creating sparks for a fire.

She knew better than that though. Judging by what the tailor had said, and the acorns, they were close to Acorn Hall. Riverrun would only be a few days ride from there. She stood, going over to Stranger and grabbing the comb Sandor had bought for her. The horse grunted at her, stomping his foot, but he let her rummage in the bags till she found what she was looking for.

Sandor laughed, but it was a darker laugh; like he knew a joke at her expense.

"Please, ser, what's so funny?" she spat.

He glared at her for a moment, hitting the flint pieces harder together, catching the kindling with the sparks. "Nothin'."

Sansa sighed, exasperated. It was one step forward and two steps back with him! She wanted to hate him again. It was so much easier when she hated him…

She stared into the fire as it caught. Her blue eyes focusing on Sandor's form as he stood. "Where're you going?"

"Do you just ask questions all day? No wonder Queen Cersei thought you bloody stupid."

The jab hurt worse than she'd expected. She knew the queen had found her lacking with intelligence, but to know she had spoken it openly, and to him… Tears pricked at her eyes.

She smoothed her hair back, looking away from him as he retreated away from her, disappearing into the trees. She looked to Stranger. If it were any other horse, she'd be off and away, fleeing to Riverrun and to the warm embrace of her mother, but it was Stranger, and she was smart enough to know the horse moved for no one but Sandor Clegane.

She nibbled on some black bread, trying to pass the time, counting the different kinds of birds she saw up in the trees. She hadn't noticed the Hound's return.

Sandor sat down at the fire, sharpening his sword. She watched his hands as they moved. They were careful and precise. Each move he made was strong, but like a caress.

"Used to be you wouldn't even look at me." She heard him say roughly.

"Used to be I didn't know you," she retorted.

"Still don't know me."

"I know you tolerate books and women who ask too many questions."

He laughed at that, nodding in approval at her joke. She felt smug with herself.

"Still don't know me."

She wanted to throw this piece of bread at him, but that'd be a waste and she was certainly not going to risk losing good food.

"The tailor, back in the village," Sandor said as he continued sharpening his sword. "No one greeted me there, 'cept him. Called me "ser."

"You wore the armor of a knight. You should be a knight."

"Don't go around announcing to the world who you are," he warned. His voice cold as the sword he was sharpening.

That angered her. How dare he just assume like that! "I didn't tell him who I was!"

"How'd you get all the bloody clothing then? Or are you just too proud to tell me you let him touch you!"

"I've never _been_ touched, dog! How dare you even suggest such a thing!"

"Many women are touched before they marry. Think you'll be something special?"

She had had it. She stood up, throwing the bread to the ground, seeing it crumble a bit. "I don't consider myself something special, but I'd appreciate it if you looked at me with more respect. You think you know _me_? You know_ nothing_ about me!"

He laughed, yet there was no joy in that laugh. It was like a dog snarling. "You have the body of a woman, but you still speak like a girl."

"And you're just a coward!" she countered. That seemed to strike a nerve, for despite his size, he was up in the blink of an eye, already right in front of her as he pressed her hands above her head against a tree.

"Think me a coward all you want, girl! Think your self some innocent maiden. Think if I wanted you I couldn't just_ take_ you?" His voice was rough as he yelled at her. "Think if your life depended on it, you wouldn't spread those porcelain legs of yours? You'd moan like a whore all the same as the rest!"

Tears streamed down her face, but she didn't break eye contact. "I'd _never_ allow you to touch me like that. I'd rather die!"

She saw something break inside his eyes. His grip suddenly gone and he was walking away as he grabbed two flasks of ale from Stranger's packs. "No, you wouldn't for the likes of me."

Sansa had wanted to believe she imagined the hurt in his voice, but she knew she'd heard it. It was there, like the tree behind her and the pulsating in her loin. She did want him though…that was the issue. But she didn't want The Hound with his snarls and his anger; she wanted Sandor, with that crooked smile and that dark chocolate voice.

She collapsed to the ground, shaking as she sobbed. She hated herself! She hated this situation. She wanted her mother! Worst yet, she wanted her _father_.

Blue eyes scanned her surroundings, but she saw no trace of Sandor Clegane. He'd stormed off with his alcohol and left her alone with a horse that wouldn't budge even if she pushed him.

Night came quickly, despite her misery and fear. She had kept the fire going, hoping that if Sandor came back, that's how he could find her. Yet he never came. She could hear wolves howling, but her fear wasn't that they'd find her. Her fear was that they could find _him._ Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but she tried to fight it as best she could. If it had been an hour, or several she didn't know, but her battle with sleep was ended, as she fell to the ground where she sat, sleeping like a baby next to a warm fire.

She woke up shivering, the fire long since died out. Panicked, she looked around. Stranger was still there, but he had been pulling on his reigns, chewing them, like he'd been trying to leave. Had Sandor really not come back?

Brushing herself off from the acorns, leaves and dirt, Sansa looked around. "Sandor!" she shouted, using his name, hoping that it would amend the anger between them. "Sandor where are you?" No voice answered. "SANDOR!" she shrieked, unable to contain her nerves and panic. Was she alone? Had the wolves gotten him? Or worse, someone?

She wouldn't cry. She couldn't afford to break down and cry. She untied Stranger, the horse flicked his nose up violently, stomping his feet, but he didn't retreat. He waited for her to mount and then they were off, Sansa having no control over the horse.

His hooves beat violently into the earth, like the sounds of thousands of men charging in war. His breath came loud, but steady. She felt his strong muscles as they lunged across the earth. Where were they going? Did Stranger know? Or was he panicked that his rider had abandoned him? Yet why would the horse allow Sansa on if not because he knew where Sandor was? Maybe Sansa was giving the beast too much credit… He was just a horse, even if Sandor begged to differ.

The giant warhorse slowed down to a trot after hours of running as fast as he could, heaving and foaming at the mouth. "Acorn Hall…" Sansa said as they looked down at the town. "We were this close?"

Stranger heaved his head up, making a strange, panicked sound. "Sandor down there, boy?" she asked. The horse stomped his feet. She dismounted, pulling on his reins. Surprisingly, the horse followed. They went down a bit further off the hill, and what she saw froze her soul to ice. Sandor was in an iron prison, barely big enough to fit him. People were laughing and throwing things at him. Her heart panicked. What was she to do now? How could she rescue him? She couldn't… She didn't know how.

Misery poisoned her resolve as she crumbled to the ground. They had both said such strong words to each other, his more than hers, but she had still fought back. These people probably were going to kill him and Sansa had no money to offer in exchange. She only had Stranger, and Sandor would refuse that offer, she was sure.

"What am I to do?" she asked the horse.

He only responded with a grunt, still wheezing from his exhausting run. But moments later, he was charging down into the town, into the crowd. "No!" Sansa yelled, but it was too late. He was caught, kicking, wheezing and screeching. She could see Sandor looking at him, but his expression was out of her sight. A group of men managed to stable Stranger, but if he'd stay there, Sansa was unsure. She guessed the stupid horse would, if Sandor was near.

"Now what?" she asked herself. The comb, the black dress and all her food were inside Stranger's packs. She was left with a single dress and not even a man who knew how to hunt. She had no choice but to go into that town. But she'd wait for it to get dark.

Night felt like it took a thousand years to finally approach, but it finally settled on the town. Sansa was able to make way to town, and pass the guards at the gates as she clung to the shadows.

She saw the iron cages, but Sandor was no longer in one. Fear gripped at her soul. Had they killed him? She had been watching the town the entire day! Was it when she was skulking about the shadows trying to get in? She touched the iron that had previously encased Sandor Clegane, seeing the blood, filth and dung. How cruel of these people…

"What you be doing out here?" a woman's rough voice asked.

Sansa turned around, eyes as round as a newborb babe's. "I was just…the prisoner is gone?"

"Aye, took him for the trial. My guess is he's dying painfully." She cackled.

Sansa had to pretend she didn't care. She nodded curtly. "G-good. He deserves it."

"Aye he does! If King Robert were still here. Gods bless him."

"Yes, King Robert." That was utterly perplexing. Joffery was Robert's son, but maybe Acorn Hall believed the rumors about the Kingslayer and Cersei. Did they wish Robb the king?

The woman left, thankfully. Sansa watched her make way to what she assumed was the tavern. Was that all people did? Drank and threw dung at caged men? How was the world so cold! Maybe Sandor was right… No one was good.

'_My father was good. My brother good as well as my mother. Maybe only the Starks are good, and those who love them._' She walked about the town. Listening to the chatter and laughs of drunken men. She was a woman grown; yet no one paid any mind to her. It was as if she were a ghost. She honestly liked it that way.

She found a dark area, between two buildings was a lean to and she sat with the pigs that resided there. They oinked at her, and blinked their beady eyes at her, but once they grew bored of her, they left her alone. She put her head down, but she wouldn't cry. What was she to do now? If Sandor was dead…

'_It's my fault. If I didn't make him angry, he'd have stayed with me._' Guilt plagued at her soul, nipping it and tearing it piece by piece. She would _not_ cry though. Maybe she could find a knight here and tell them who she was. Sandor had warned her though to not do that. For once, she decided to believe him. The world was cruel. He may have been cruel too, but he was honest and he did what he could for her. He'd got her apples when she wanted them, shared his catches from hunts with her, and given her his white cloak to sleep with; even a bed for a night. He'd done more for her than anyone outside of her own family.

She felt the tears before she even realized she'd been crying. She didn't sob, but she looked to her hands in her lap, and allowed the salty water from her eyes fall, like a steady rain on a cold night.

'_I'm so sorry you died because of me.'_

She woke, still with the pigs. People were passing by but they gave no care to the girl sleeping with the pigs. She was quite thankful though. She'd rather keep to her misery. She stood, pulling hay from her hair. She smelled like the sty. Maybe Stranger would leave, now that Sandor was dead.

She walked past people, glaring at them from under her unruly hair, but they didn't look to her. Something felt…off. The people whispered to each other, but there was no celebration. They were…disappointed by something.

She entered the stable, her heart clutching as her only hope was snuffed away. Stranger was gone. She panicked, her eyes double-checking, but no other horse here was as nice as he was. There were three that looked good enough to ride. The others looked like they'd been seen better days. Maybe she could just steal a horse. Her morality quivered at the idea of breaking a law though… And these people did have iron cages.

Sansa left the stable, seeing a young boy speaking to an older man. "They let him go, Grandpapa?" the boy shouted.

"Aye. Lord Dondarrion passed judgement. Innocent. Pah! Innocent! The Hound!" the old man went on more, but Sansa had stopped caring.

He was alive! Sansa heart fluttered with glee! She wanted to find him, and apologize for everything she had said. Part of her wanted to fling herself into his arms and allow him to do as he pleased. She knew he'd probably insult her no matter which greeting she chose.

Her eyes turned back to the stables. She had to steal a horse. She _had_ to find him again. She had no idea where he'd be going though, and if she started asking questions, she was scared someone would notice she wasn't of this town. Acorn Hall was bigger than the village they'd been at before, but it was really only a stronghold, and House Smallwood only small in lordship. Someone with a careful eye would know she didn't belong.

She walked back to the stables, hiding behind her hair as she passed several people. No one seemed to pay her any attention. They all seemed to be brooding over Sandor's "innocence." He'd been with her! How could he have done anything! She crept into the stables, feeling like thousands of eyes were upon her. She felt every horse was suspicious of her. They whinnied, snorted and stomped, but none of them seemed so abrasive as Stranger. She patted a white mare, cooing at her softly. The horse seemed to respond to her nicely enough. She found some saddles. Just as she was about to pick one out, she heard voices approaching. She ducked behind a barrel, hoping they wouldn't come near her.

"Beric shouldn't have let him go," one of them said. He was young, with red hair and a pleasant enough voice.

"He won, simple as that." The other was a handsome man, for being older. "Could've made a pretty song about him killing Clegane though." They saddled two horses, and went on their way, wherever that was.

Sansa was thankful they hadn't taken the white mare. She wasted no time in saddling her, fixing her bridle and galloping at full speed out of the town. She heard shouts, and prayed that no one was quick enough to get into another saddle, or that the other two would find her. She was out the gate before the guards had time to close it. Freedom never felt so good! She couldn't help but allow a laugh to escape her lips. It was loud, airy and it sang thousands of songs up to the birds who responded back with their own chirping laugher. She rode until she could no longer see Acorn Hall, and the sky began to darken as the sun set behind the earth's curves.

She stopped the white mare, bringing her over to a small creek with a dribble of water. It was enough to wet her face, and give the mare a good drink. "We'll be here tonight," she said, patting the white mare on the head. She didn't want to shout, but she wondered how Sandor would be able to find her. Had he gone back the way she'd come from with Stranger? Sansa had no idea of which way was what out here. Everything looked the same. She used a rock, carving it into a tree. She hacked at the wood, making letters as she went.

"Find me Sandor." It said, albeit in poor handwriting. She signed it with "LB." If he didn't come tonight, she'd leave a trail. She went to another tree, carving the same message in and marking it again with LB. She must have marked about fifteen trees when the sun finally went down. She fumbled around in the dark with the stone, seeing it as her only protection out here and curled in on herself as she chook and froze within the night's chill.

She had barely slept that night, and she wasn't sure how many hours, if that she slept at all. Every sound made her turn her head, and every hoot, crack or howl sent a chill down her spine. She was glad when the sun rose from behind the trees. Her stomach growled loudly and she wished she knew how to hunt, or at least smash an animal's head in with her rock, but she'd feel guilty and she didn't have anything to skin anything with anyway. She cupped her hands, drinking as much of the creek's water as she could. It held a bit of a metal taste, but she didn't care. She was aiming to fill her stomach with the water.

After she had drunk all she could stomach, she set off on her mare, marking trees every second she got. She collected a few rocks, as she noticed some were sharper than others. She'd want as much protecting as she could get. She'd tied up her hem of her dress, making it a basket for her rocks as she went along with her mare.

It was easy not to get lost, marking the trees as she did, but she found herself getting turned around a few times. How as that even possible? She looked up at the sky. _'Please Sandor…find me.'_

Two nights she had been alone. She was starving and so desperate for food that she had managed to smash a squirrel's head in with one of her rocks. She had tore into the squirrel, feeling its warm blood on her hands as it ran down to her elbows and dotted her dress, that was now browning with earth, dirt and blood. She was utterly disgusted with herself, but she drank the blood, knowing there was sustenance within it. Her stomach couldn't handle the innards though, so after a few bites from the small bits she could get at, like the thighs, she had to stop eating in fear of throwing it all up. She drank as much creek and stream water as she could, and stopped frequently. Her hands were stained with blood and she cried frequently, but she kept carving, "Find me Sandor –LB." She prayed she wouldn't die out here. She couldn't go back to Acorn Hall. She had no idea how to even get back to it, even if she wanted to. They'd kill her for stealing a horse anyway.

She continued on in her resolve, carving, carving, carving, and crying. Her breath was foul of raw meat and she felt so weak. Her stomach churned frequently but she kept going.

On the third night, she started suffering from lack of proper food preparation as the bit of blood she'd drank and the squirrel's meat went through her like a hot flame, turning her bowels to water. She'd slid off the horse, collapsing to the base of a tree that only said "Fi-." She tied the reins around the tree from her position and lay there, head drooping to the side and mouth open as her stomach churned in turmoil. She had to strength to stand to find a place to expel her sickness, but she refused to sit in her own filth. She crawled to another tree, allowing her bowels to rush out of her body, yet hardly anything came. She had expelled all she had. Water would keep her alive, but she wasn't used to such nutritional neglect. Her stomach howled in hunger yet protested the "meal" she had had earlier that day.

Her hands shook in fear and fever. She was going to die out here… She knew she was. She crawled back to her tree, with her mare and sobbed silently. She heard a crack of wood and something that sounded like a horse. But she didn't look up. "Please…kill me," she whispered.

"After all the bloody trouble you went through carving the entire forest?" The voice was raspy, like bitter dark chocolate and black tea. If she had more tears to cry, she'd have cried for joy.

"Sansa!" a child's voice exclaimed. It sounded like Arya, but that was impossible. Arya was missing, or dead.

Sandor kneeled in front of her, the light of the moon exposing his eyes. They were warm, and sparking with something like…relief?

"Now, you're a wolf," he said, picking her up bridal style.

"No," she answered meekly as she was placed atop Stranger. She almost fell but two strong hands held her in place. "I'm just a little bird…"

His laugh was soft, almost like he wished he weren't laughing. She would have commented on how he literally smelled of shit, but she was sure she did too, and she was too weak to speak anymore. Her eyes fluttered shut. She didn't know when he'd gotten onto Stranger, but as she slipped again, his arms caught her, pulling her into his chest.

"I found you, Little bird." Was the last thing she heard before she passed out.

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Song: Blackout by Muse


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you all for the continued reviews, alerts and favorites. I'm glad you are all enjoying this so much. Unfortunately, my updates will not be coming so fast anymore. I'd like to turn my attention to my own writings. I won't take weeks. Probably just a few days. Just an update for you all. Small warning, this, like the rest of the previous chapters are never edited or re looked over after they're written... I'm sure there are plenty of mistakes. Haha

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_Amazing how life turns out the way that it does_  
_ We end up hurting the worst, the only ones we really love_

_Chapter Seven-_

Sansa woke, realizing she was roped to Stranger's back with her face at his rear. She would have protested, till she realized the rope was to keep her on, and Stranger was to keep her warm. A white cloak had been placed atop her. She reached up, untying the rope and sat up. Surprisingly, her muscles weren't abused from how she had slept. She felt, rather refreshed, till her stomach growled in agony for food. It had been four days since she had eaten a real meal. She had never felt so weak.

"Sansa's awake, Hound!"

That voice… "Arya?" Sansa croaked, her voice too weak.

Arya didn't even come up to Stranger's shoulders but Sansa saw her. Her hair was tangled with leaves and acorns, but she was really there!

"Arya!" Sansa slid from Stranger's back, collapsing onto Arya, taking her to the ground with her. "I thought you were dead!" her voice croaked again, squeaking at the last syllable.

"Suppose you be wanting to eat, Little bird?" Sandor asked as he knelt down, offering her a piece of meat.

Arya wrinkled her nose when she looked at Sandor. Sansa would have chastised her, but she snatched the meat from his hand and scarfed it down.

Sandor chuckled. "Killed a deer earlier. Plenty more, but eat slow. Don't want you getting sicker than you were."

A heavy blush dotted Sansa's face as she chewed.

"You've got blood all over your face," Arya said as she dusted herself off, standing.

Sansa looked to her hands. "I killed a squirrel. Bashed its head in and drank its blood."

The Stark girls both turned their heads when they heard Sandor's loud, booming laughter as he sat by the fire, cooking more of the deer meat. "Only three days."

"It felt like an eternity!" Sansa defended back, feeling tears at the edges of her eyes. "I didn't know where you were, I didn't know if you were alive or dead and I was terrified!"

"Missed me that much, huh?" he spat.

"Don't start this again," Sansa said, using Stranger as a balancing beam so she could stand. "I was worried sick over you!"

Arya looked dumbfounded, but Sansa paid no mind to her.

"Here I am, your bowls can rest now, Little bird," he gestured to himself as he spoke, then turned his eyes back to the fire.

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. She wanted to scream at him! "You followed all my signs."

"Course I did. Ransoming two Starks is better than one."

Shock filled Sansa's delicate features, yet with dirt and blood upon her face, she looked like a wildling, more than a delicate lady. "Ransom?"

"Those fuckers took all my gold, and wouldn't give it bloody back. Got to survive somehow, Little bird."

'_You were going to join Robb. You were going to stay with me!'_ She wished she said the words aloud, but she only looked to her sister, noticing how Arya looked at the Hound with vile disdain.

"We all stink," Arya said. "Can't we bathe soon? You still have that soap."

"Course you can she-bitch. I don't see any water though."

Sansa wanted to scream at him. How could he call her sister such a name, and in front of her? "Why don't we _find _some water then?" Sansa spat.

"Suppose we should," answered the Hound.

'_He's still angry with me. He has to be still angry…_' she reasoned. He was always abrasive, but he usually gave some hint that he cared. Ransoming? It was as if Sandor Clegane was torn to shreds by The Hound. That gentle, smooth, dark chocolate voice was gone, and replaced with rocks grinding together and steel to flesh. Where was the Sandor she was falling for? Why was he hiding so deeply?

Arya stayed close to Sansa, and for that she was quite grateful for, as she tore at another piece of meat the Hound had given her. Sansa studied the man. He was curled in on himself, cradling his arm.

"You hurt?" Sansa asked, going to kneel in front of the man, trying to see the damage.

He recoiled, pulling his arm up to his chest. "It's nothing," he growled.

"Lord Beric burned his arm good. The Hound was crying about it…"

"You'd be crying to you bloody wolf-bitch!" the Hound snarled.

"Both of you! Arya, Sandor's saved my life more than once now. Don't speak of him like that!" Sansa chastised.

"He called me a she-"

"Arya!" Sansa snapped. "Stop it!"

She saw Sandor shrug at her younger sister. "Best listen to your bloody sister. Or she may eat you like she did that squirrel."

"That's not funny. Now give me your arm." She pulled at his arm, removing the bandages a bit. It stunk of burnt flesh. "You _were_ burned!" she exclaimed.

Gray eyes locked with blue, yet there seemed to be an understanding between the two. Sansa understood why he'd cried then, and she'd understand it again if he were to ever befall such tragedy another time.

"We should clean the wound again. Do you have more ale still?"

"You're not bloody wasting it on this," he said as he pulled his arm back into his chest.

"Oh yes I am." She stood, going over to Stranger and found the flask. Kneeling in front of him again, she said, "Hold out your arm."

He stared at her for a moment, but did as she instructed, wincing as the alcohol burned into his battered skin. "You really look like a wolf, with that blood on yer face."

"I'd rather just be your little bird." She hadn't caught the slip till it was already said. She cleared her throat, shifting her weight as she kneeled, using the inside hem of her dress to clean at the wound.

"_My_ little bird?" Dark chocolate with just a hint of bitterness and strong tea… Sansa could feel her heart flutter.

"This is hardly the time to talk of feelings when we all reek of…unpleasantries." Her blue eyes went to Arya, who'd been staring at them with the most astonished look upon her face.

"You mean shit?" Sandor corrected.

"Yes," Sansa said as she finished wrapping the wound back up. She allowed her fingers to gently brush through his as she stood, and the feeling was like lightning, pulsating down into her heart, toes and stomach. She felt like she could run forever, and never get tired.

She returned to sit next to her sister, whose brow was furrowed and mouth open. "You look like an idiot," Sansa said.

"You trust him?" Arya asked, but her voice was barely above a whisper.

Sansa turned her face, staring at Sandor with a small smile playing at her lips. "With my life."

They had left within the hour, Sansa and Sandor to one horse, and Arya on the white mare. Sansa wondered how long it'd be again to get Sandor out of his armor and back into that jerkin that showed off his muscles quite nicely… A jolt went into her loins and she readjusted herself atop Stranger. They had been riding for almost three hours, no one ever speaking; except for Arya when she felt the need to remind them all how much she hated The Hound.

"Are you really going to ransom me?" Sansa finally questioned, breaking the long silence.

"Get my gold back? Certainly. But I won't leave you."

She wanted to be angry, but she couldn't. He was killing two birds with a single stone. "So you'll fight for Robb?"

"If he gives me some bloody gold."

"You're going to fight for our brother?" Arya asked atop the small, white mare. "Tom told me you lost your belly for fighting when you abandoned Joffrey."

"Bugger that," Sandor snarled. "I didn't lose my belly. I risked my skin for your bloody sister."

"His allegiance changed, Arya," Sansa chimed in, hoping that she quieted a fight. These two were like children!

"So he could do it again then. What if he's on orders to kill Robb?" Arya spat.

"Don't think I'd risk my skin for the two of you if I was. I'd have left Sansa and run off with just you."

"But two is worth more in gold," Arya countered.

"Clever bitch, aren't you?" Sandor growled.

Sansa didn't know how much of this she could take. Nothing she said seemed to quench the fires in their eyes. "I think we should find water…" she interrupted.

"Aye," Sandor said. "Can't take your smell anymore." Despite the jab, his voice was laced with play.

"You smell worse than she does. Like a roasted, rotten pig!" Arya said proudly.

Sandor only grunted, but he said nothing. Sansa was glad. She was going to develop a headache if these two continued at this the entire ride. At least Arya wasn't running off. Hopefully she was smarter than that to try to outrun Stranger, and leave her own sister behind.

"Where have you been this whole time, Arya?" Sansa asked.

"Yoren took me. Told me to pretend to be a boy and act like I was to join the Night's Watch. He got killed though… Joffrey's men attacked us and killed Lommy Greenhands too."

"Who?" Sansa asked.

"A boy I was with. Hot Pie, Gendry and Lommy. We were mates. Hot Pie's back at some inn with a family. Says he likes baking and so he stayed. Gendry-"

"I don't care about them… I wanted to know about _you_," Sansa interrupted.

Arya looked sad for a moment, but she spoke again not soon after. "After Yoren died, The Mountain that Rides took us all to Harrenhal. We were put to work there."

Sansa felt Sandor stiffen for a moment. She knew how much he hated his brother…

"But we were able to escape after Roose Bolton took over. Tried to make our way to the Trident, but the Brotherhood Without Banners kidnapped us. That's when they took me to Acorn Hall. They were going to ransom me back to Robb and mother too, like _he_ is." She glared at Sandor, but the man didn't even flinch.

"I'm glad you're safe now," Sansa said, offering her sister a small smile.

"We're not safe," Arya said.

"Sandor will protect us, as he has me," Sansa stated, leaning back into Sandor's breastplate.

"No. He'll protect _you._"

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Song: Inevitable by Anberlin


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you so for the reviews, favorites, and alerts. I'm so pleased that so many of you comment on your liking of my portrayal of Sandor. I was certainly nervous at the start.

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_And I'll find strength in pain_  
_ And I will change my ways_  
_ I'll know my name as it's called again_

_Chapter Eight-_

They had traveled until nightfall. However it felt like days had passed in that single ride. Arya and Sandor went back and forth, spitting insults and jabs with each opening. Sansa had developed that headache after all.

Despite his strong aversion to it, Sandor had made them a fire because it seemed to have shut Arya up. Sansa was thankful for the awkward silence though. They all gave each other passing glances, but always would look away when another pair of eyes shifted or even blinked.

Sansa's stomach growled. She'd eaten her fill of the deer, but her stomach wanted its normality back. Sandor hadn't had a chance to hunt in fear of getting caught by the Brotherhood Without Banners. So he sat there, staring into the fire, cradling his arm, and Sansa only watched, wondering what thoughts were wandering around in his head.

She shifted her gaze to Arya. The girl was sitting cross-legged and with her arms crossed. She was doing her best to look very unhappy. Neither of them seemed to want to speak, and Sansa didn't want to make anything worse.

"Should sleep, you two," Sandor's voice broke the quiet, shattering it like a fallen stained glass window. "I'll stay up and watch for anyone."

Sansa's eyes locked again on Arya. The girl was looking at her, as if waiting for some kind of response. Sansa only stood, going to grab her bedroll, giving it to Arya. "Here."

"Thank you, Sana," Arya said, seemingly shocked by the gesture of selflessness. Sansa had ulterior motives though. She just wanted Arya to go to sleep as fast as possible so she could talk to Sandor.

Sansa grabbed some furs and huddled next to the fire, intentionally going closer to Sandor than Arya. She closed her eyes, but she had no intentions of sleeping right now. After a long while, she felt it safe to venture speaking. "Does she look asleep?" she whispered.

Sandor only shrugged.

Sansa sat up, scooting closer to Sandor. "Thank you, for finding me."

"Weren't hard to find," Sandor retorted.

"But you didn't have to. You could have left me."

"Need you for gold."

Clearly this wasn't going to be the conversation Sansa wanted. She sighed heavily. "You just won't ever let me in will you?" she asked bitterly.

"Why should I?" he snorted, taking a sip off his skin of ale. He was down to his last one. Seemed to slow his drinking down, and that wasn't a bad thing in Sansa's opinion.

"I was so afraid for you. I thought you were dead. I saw you in those cages, and then when I finally got to the stronghold, you were no longer there. A woman told me you were being killed. I didn't want that conversation to be where we ended."

"Did we start?"

"For _once_ in your life, stop being so cruel to me. You may hate the world and the world may hate you, but I do not hate you, and nothing you can say or do will make it so!"

"I could think of a few things," he retorted.

She stood from the furs, kneeling in front of him, putting her hands on his knees roughly and forcing his eyes to look upon hers. "You would _never_ do anything against me."

"That a threat, Little bird? Or a challenge?"

"Go on then, make me hate you. Say something, do something. There's my sister, kill her!"

He rolled his eyes, scoffing and jerking away from her, turning to the other side, facing away from the fire.

"I've come to care for you," she said gently. "When will you stop pretending you don't care for me?"

He didn't answer, nor did he move. She didn't even hear him laugh at her. _'I knew I was right.'_ She moved back to her furs, tangling her body into them again and staring at the fire.

"Little bird…" His voice sounded very far away, like he was straining to speak. She looked up at him, but he was still turned away. After a few moments passed, she crawled out of her furs again and walked over to the other side of his log, sitting next to him. She didn't speak, and nor did he. What could she say? He'd only hide further within himself. So, instead of speaking, she took a leap and rested her head against his arm, closing her eyes. He didn't recoil, he didn't even flinch.

"Robb's van is no longer at Riverrun. He's heading to the Twins," Sandor finally said.

"How do you know?" Sansa asked, still with her head against him.

"Heard in Acorn Hall. Got a lot of bloody traveling to get to those whore Twins."

"I'm not worried," Sansa said.

"You best get some sleep. I'll keep watch. I won't be sleeping tonight."

"Why?"

"Don't want it? Quit yer chirping and go to sleep."

Sansa normally would have felt the need to roll her eyes or show him that she was displeased, but the way he said it wasn't rude, just his way of saying he wanted her healthy. He could fool the world, but she was at least starting to understand him. His was a language all his own, but her culture shock was subsiding. She stood, going back to her furs and snuggling in. She wasn't completely comfortable, but it was nice to finally be with Sandor, and Arya again. Sleep found her fast, with dreams she'd forget upon her wake.

"I hate you!" Arya screamed, jolting Sansa from her sleep. She looked about, the sun blinding her for a moment and, seeing Arya with a branch smacking Sandor over and over with it. The large man just stood there laughing, clutching his stomach as he did. "You're a liar! Liar!"

"What are you _doing _Arya?" Sansa screamed as she fumbled out of her furs.

"Your she-wolf here thinks I won't fight for Robb," Sandor answered, finally catching the stick and crushing it in his hands. "Next time I'll hit you back…"

Arya recoiled, but her eyes were stone. "He's a liar! He killed my friend! He ran off from his king! He's just a big, stupid, fat liar!"

"Fat?" Sandor laughed. "Maybe it's cause you're just too skinny."

"Liar!" She raised a hand to smack him, but he caught her wrist.

"Dangerously close to getting a bloody face, bitch…" he growled.

"Both of you! Stop it!" Sansa yelld. She moved between them, taking Sandor's hand off Arya's wrist, though he let her easy enough. She pushed Arya away, and came to rest a hand on Sandor's chest. "He's going to fight for Robb if our brother will take him."

"I'll tell Robb not to trust him!" Arya spat back.

"And I'll tell him you're being the stupid, big, fat liar," Sansa countered, her blue eyes turned to ice with determination. Gods this was a nightmare.

Arya had tears in her eyes, but Sansa knew the girl wouldn't let them fall. Instead, Arya trudged to the log, sitting on it and pouted. "I hate you both…"

Sansa felt guilty, but what else could she do? She wouldn't allow Sandor to hit her sister and she certainly wouldn't allow Arya to continue hitting Sandor. She felt like a mother with two bratty children!

She broke from her thoughts when she felt rough hands grasp her raised hand that was still against Sandor. Her eyes rounded in surprise, but he only gave her a soft, crooked smile and shrugged. Walking away from her and to Stranger.

"Best find water. I can't take the smell of your shit, wolf-bitch."

Arya glared, but said nothing. For that, Sansa was extremely grateful.

The broke their fast on dried deer meet and some berries they found nearby. Arya commented that she hoped they were poisonous when Sandor went to test them. Thankfully, he said nothing back to her. When they were finished eating, they began their journey once again, this time heading for the Twins and not Riverrun.

"Why'd you leave Joffrey?" Arya asked. Sansa almost fell off her horse she was so surprised in that small tone.

"A dog can only take so much kicking…"

Sansa felt terrible. She had suffered from Joffrey, but she had no idea he did as well. She leaned back into him, feeling the rough texture of his armor. She couldn't wait to bathe and get into her clean, black dress. They had no clothing for Arya, but she seemed to like being dirty.

They continued riding, keeping at a canter gate for most of the day. Sansa could feel her back ache more and more as they rode. "Where are your friends now, Arya?" she asked.

"Gendry stayed with the Brotherhood." From her tone, Sansa could tell there was some resentment there.

"You'll be home to your family soon," Sansa said.

"I know…"

They stopped at a village, hoping to stock back up on supplies by either thievery or intimidation, both Sandor's idea. But as they got closer to the town, they noticed something strange about it. No one walked around. Chickens and pigs wandered about the streets. There was no human life here.

"Where are they?" Arya asked.

"The brave ones dead, and the scared run away," Sandor answered. "Let's see what we can find."

After tying up the horses, Sandor killed three chickens, snapping their necks violently. Arya of course commented on how hateful he was, but he only told her if she said one more thing today, she wouldn't get to eat. That shut her up. They went into the tavern, and to Sansa's dismay, but Sandor's delight there were three casks of wine and enough ale to kill a man.

Sansa walked out of the tavern, deciding she didn't want to watch Sandor fill up his skins and flasks with as much as he could carry. She wandered around, looking at the small shops, and checking inside. She walked into what she thought was a smithy as countless horseshoes lined the shelves, but there were no swords, just farming equipment. Something smelled foul here.

She coughed a few times, using her sleeve to try to block the smell. It hung in the air like steam though. She turned the corner and screamed.

A man laid dead, his eyes ripped from his face, jaw slack open and blood seeping from every hole on his body. His intestines lay about five feet out from where he'd come to fall. Sansa fell over, smashing into the horseshoes and hoes, causing everything to crash loudly around her. She couldn't take her eyes off the dead man.

"Sansa!" she heard her sister call, yet she didn't move. She felt hands pulling her up, dragging her away from the dead man… His eyes…where were his eyes? "Don't be afraid of the dead," she heard her sister say. "The dead cannot hurt you."

She finally looked at Arya, seeing the worry and fright in the child's eyes. "His eyes…He died so brutally…"

She heard heavy footsteps, yet they brought her no comfort. These people were murdered here. They were farmers, tradesmen… What did they do against Joffrey. _'They were Robb's. They had to have been Robb's.'_

"Still afraid of the dead huh?" Sandor grunted as he walked over to the corpse, digging in his pockets to see if any coin remained there. "Bloody bastard."

"What are you doing?" Sansa asked, sitting up, still in her sister's embrace.

"Coin's not going to help him is it? But the swine doesn't have it anyway."

"He's not a pig. He was a man."

"Aye. Now his troubles are over. Yet we're still kicking." He stood up, looking around. "Found many more dead. All of them had their eyes gouged."

"Why?" Sansa asked.

"Sends a message. You're certainly afraid."

"I want to leave here," Sansa said, standing up, her body shaken.

"There's shelter here, food and drink. I can cook you chicken and give you a warm bed here."

"They're dead…" she said again, fear still gripping at her soul. What kind of people did this to others?

"So it's all free…" Sandor said, pulling her into his arms and carrying her out of the smithy.

They returned to the tavern. Arya commented it smelled of death, but Sandor insisted he'd dragged all the dead out before allowing Sansa in. She still saw that man… dripping with blood and eyeless. She wondered how afraid he'd been, or if he'd fought.

"Eat, Little bird."

She turned to his voice, that dark chocolate voice, with just a hint of strong tea. She knew she must look funny. Days old dried blood on her hands and face. She probably looked like a killer, but her eyes were wide and she was afraid. What if these men found Robb? What if they did that to him?

He shoved a chicken leg into her hands, his gray eyes locked with hers. "Eat," he said much more gruffly.

She nibbled at the meat, enjoying its juicy flavor. It was warm and fresh. Not stringy like the deer meat.

"Both of you may not leave this taven in the night," Sandor said through a mouthful of chicken. "Wolves will be at the bodies I piled out there."

"Piled?" Sansa asked, swallowing hard.

"Lot's of brave men in this village," he rasped.

"Did Joffrey do this?" Arya asked.

"No. My brother did this."

The room felt as if it dropped in temperature, and Sansa could swear the room darkened. She continued eating, trying not to think on the rage that swarmed inside Sandor, or the death that was piled outside, or the man in the smithy. She felt sick, and the food turned to ash in her mouth as she felt bile threaten to force its way out.

"I'm going to bed," she announced, standing up and going upstairs without looking at either of them. She climbed the narrow stairs, found a bedroom and collapsed into the sheets. There was something rough on the bed, scratching at her skin. She sat up, waiting for her eyes to adjust. It was a dark, brown spot, with small splatters around it. Blood…

She felt sick again, leaving that room and slamming the door shut. She slid to the floor. Why…why did people have to be so hateful? Was Sandor right? Was there truly no good in the world? She missed her father. But even he was a killer. He'd rebelled against his king, killed many other "good" men and served a usurper. Was he a good man still? Were they all "good" men?

"There are seven beds and you find a floor?" a rough voice called. She listened to his heavy footsteps, the sounds his armor made when he moved, and finally, the silence when he came to rest, sitting next to her.

"There was blood on the bed. Someone died there."

"Aye. Could have found a different bed."

"That's not the point," she said forcefully, her blue eyes coming to seize his own. "You may have no respect for life, but I do. These people did nothing wrong."

"How're you so sure? Did you know them?"

She paused, which earned her a dark laugh. She hated when he made fun of her. "So they were rapists, murderers and thieves then?" she countered.

"Some probably."

She didn't want to continue talking. She rested her head against her knees, smelling the filth on her skin, her clothes and probably even her hair. She scratched at the blood on her face, trying to remove it. She felt disgusted with herself. "Why do I care? You're right. I didn't know them. But why am I so upset over all of it?"

"Because, Little bird, you're the only good there is in this world."

She looked up at him, his eyes showed no emotion, the scars on his face only further hid his thoughts, yet his voice was warm, and she continued to play that compliment over and over in her mind. She moved like a frightened child, finding her way into his arms, forcing him to wrap them around her protectively. She hated his armor. It served to only keep her away from him. "No," she said softly. "That girl died when Joffrey showed her father's head on a spike. I want wolves to tear at his body. I want him to die screaming for his mother. And I want her dead too. I want all the Lannisters dead."

He rested his head against hers, sighing for a moment. "Maybe one day, you shall have it."

* * *

Song: The Cave by Mumford and Sons


	9. Chapter 9

Continued thanks to all who alert, fave and review. I apologize in advance for a scene in this one. It's kind of gross, and I don't feel it was all that well done. I'm inexperienced with action scenes.

* * *

_Well Mother, tell your children _  
_ Not to do what I have done_  
_ Or you'll spend your life in sin and misery_  
_ In the house of the Rising Sun_

_Chapter Nine-_

He'd carried her to bed, after she'd fallen asleep in his arms. Truth be told, Sandor didn't want to move. Ever. He'd rested there, leaning his head against hers, smelling her unfortunate foul smell, but loving it all the same. He was quite sure he didn't smell of bloody daisies either. Yet she'd crawled into _his_ arms. He'd placed her in the only bed that wasn't bloody, and tucked her auburn hair behind her ear as she slept. The moon's rays cascaded down her jaw line like a caress. She was so beautiful.

'_And she crawled into my arms…'_

He turned away, leaving her to sleep and him to wander. He trudged down the stairs, hearing them groan under his weight. He felt like they were mocking him. Telling him that he just wasn't good enough for her. How could he? He was older, ugly and everything she'd never wanted. She wanted beautiful princes with dashing horses and knights with smiles and bows. Not men who beat her bloody and cussed at her…of which he cussed quite frequently, but at least he'd never beat her.

'_Yet she crawled into my arms…'_

He slumped into a chair, but not before grabbing at his skin of wine. His face twitched as he stared into the darkness. He took a long swig.

"Where's Sansa?" he heard an annoying voice call.

"Asleep. Where the she-wolf should be."

"Why do you call her a bird yet me a wolf?" He watched Arya move closer, like a demon in the shadows. When did it get so bloody dark?

"She's her and you're you. She's more Tully than Stark."

"And that means you're nice to her, and rude to me?"

"You're the one who hates me, remember?" he countered, taking another long drink off his wine.

"You're foul, a liar and you smell like shit. I don't want you near my sister! I see the way you look at her. She'd never love you. I just know it!" Arya's voice was like a bleating goat. Sandor had to fight back the urge to smack her across the face.

He rolled his neck, taking another long chug of the wine. "Go to sleep wolf-bitch."

"She won't…ever." Arya ran upstairs. He hoped she pissed herself when she lay in a dead man's pool of blood. Maybe shit herself too… Or better yet…fall over and break her neck.

'_She'd never love me…Yet she crawled into my arms.'_ Sansa had said she'd come to care for him… Come to worry and think of him. Was that just because she needed him to survive? Or was it more? He pressed his rough hands against his face, sighing heavily. _'Bloody fucking seven hells.'_

Sandor took his wine, and went out to the stable with Stranger, still hoping Arya would somehow manage to die within the night. Call him bitter.

Morning came quickly, yet it was not the sun's rays that fell down on Sandor, but thick, heavy rain. He groaned, rolling over as if that'd stop the rain from falling. The water hit his armor, pitter-pattering against it in an unrecognizable rhythm. He wanted to kill whichever god decided this was amusing… if there were gods to kill.

He sat up, pulling hay from his hair. At least the water would get the shit off his armor. He stripped himself naked, leaving the armor out in the rain, not giving a damn if it rusted. He'd get new armor when he finally turned in Sansa and Arya…if she was still alive. He guessed he wouldn't be too upset if she were. That meant more gold for him anyway. He pulled out his clothing from Stranger's pack, dressing under the shelter of the small lean-to stable. He needed to find a pail or something to catch the water so they could use it to wash.

Sandor trudged back into the tavern, going into the kitchen and finding several pots to place outside to collect the heavy rain. His hair was soaked by the time he came back into the tavern and his shirt clung to his skin, making him feel clammy. Begrudgingly, he decided a fire would not only bring food, but also dry his clothes. He went back into the kitchen, finding some onions and potatoes. He hadn't salted the chicken, so it was most likely spoiled by now; not that the two girls had left much of it anyway. He did think about some of the pigs outside, but felt Sansa had seen enough intestines for the moment. He was content with making vegetable soup in rainwater. If Arya bitched, he'd fucking punch her…

He brought in one of the buckets, sloshing some of the rainwater into a cooking pot, and lit a fire. He took the bucket back out, and saw the other two were now completely full. He hauled those in, hoping the rain continued to downpour just enough to fill his bucket and then fucking stop. He knew the girls wouldn't want to travel in rain.

He sat by the fire, drying his clothes and hair, finally no longer smelling of shit and filth from the downpour, but still feeling unclean. At least he could bare this. He used a long, wooden spoon to stir the onions and potatoes, wondering if he could find at least some carrots or something else, but his thoughts were interrupted as small footsteps echoed from behind. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Sansa. Her hair clumped with filth and disheveled from tossing in her sleep.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

"No, but thank you." She curtseyed. Sandor wanted to roll his eyes, but he just turned away.

"What did you find to eat?" she asked.

"Potatoes and onions. And water. There's a bucket over there, full o' water for you to wash. The soaps still in Stranger's pack."

She nodded awkwardly, going out the tavern.

Sandor sighed heavily. Why was it so much tenser now? Shouldn't last night have been a breakthrough? She did admit to having feelings. He wasn't just imagining it. But what _kind_ of feelings. Trust? Infatuation? Lust? Love? Friendship?

'_She'd never love you. I just know it!'_ Arya's voice echoed in his mind, making his heart squeeze and his stomach churn. Maybe breaking fast wasn't a good idea today.

He heard Sansa return. "I can put that somewhere more private for you," he offered.

"Thank you."

He stood up, looking down at her as he towered over her small frame. She had felt so light in his arms. He took both buckets up the stairs and set them there. "I won't be coming up here again. Don't bloody care where you both wash." He turned around, not even waiting for her to respond.

Then he felt her hand grab his.

He turned, his scarred face more toward her than the undamaged side.

"Thank you, Sandor," she said, smiling.

He just grunted, feeling unworthy of looking upon her smile, even with the crusted, dried blood and the filthy hair. He sat back in front of the fire, silently cursing at the flames as they mocked him. He began stirring once more.

The potatoes had at least colored the water, and the onions gave it flavor, but it was still a terrible soup. Sandor wished there was some bread. At least with bread it'd be tastier. He went back into the kitchen finding a sack of salt, but it wasn't filled with salt… He dropped the intestines from the bag, raising a brow. He wondered if who ever played this joke knew it'd eventually be found. He went around the kitchen, but he couldn't find anything else. "Fucking raiding…" He grumbled to himself about the many ways he'd like to kill his brother until he finally reached to pull the soup off the fire. He set it on the wooden floor, seeing the heat of the iron pot blacken the wood around where it rested. He was entranced with how it slowly blackened, like a plague.

"Is it ready?"

He turned; almost startled to see Sansa, with wet, stringy hair and a glowing, white face. "Aye. Won't be good though."

"It's food, at least." She walked over to him, chewing on her lip. He had to turn away. His cock was blue enough from this journey, he didn't need it hard, blue and without a release; not when he was always so close to her. He couldn't actually remember the last time he even touched _himself_.

He heard Arya run down the stairs. Her eyes met his, and they shared a silent moment of glaring daggers at each other before he watched the younger wolfling investigate what he'd made for breakfast.

"Onions and potatoes, she-wolf."

"I can see that, dog." She rolled her eyes. He wanted to backhand her.

"I swear if you two start that again today. I'll scream and…do something stupid."

"Wouldn't be far from the norm then…" Sandor said.

"Shut up!" Arya countered. "Don't talk to my sister like that!"

He only sneered at her. Yet when he looked to Sansa, she was quiet, fiddling with her fingers. She looked lovely in that black dress. Her skin glowed like moonlight and her hair was almost like a fire in the night, only it was one he'd stand to be near.

"Come, eat," he said, holding out a bowl to her. She gingerly took the bowl, her eyes unreadable. "You get your own, bitch," he growled at Arya.

The child huffed, but she did so nonetheless. They all ate in silence; even Arya seemed to have nothing to say, which was a surprise. Honestly, Sandor was fine with that. He had enough on his mind. While he'd gone to her, she'd still sought comfort in his arms. But was that all it was? Was it just comfort and nothing else? Was she so desperate she needed anyone and he was just there? She had her sister here now though. Wouldn't she have gone to someone who was blood?

He stirred his soup, not really feeling hungry. He missed bread. He watched Arya scarf down her portion of the soup. She was still unwashed. He didn't give two shits if she bathed in pig shit or water. His eyes traveled to Sansa. She was slowly eating her soup, her back straight and she made not a sound when she went to sip from her spoon. _'You were bred to be a highborn lady. Yet you were robbed of that fate.'_

Sandor pushed himself from the table.

"Where are _you_ going?" Arya asked, her eyes laced heavy with suspicion.

"Can a man not take a piss? Shall I pull out my cock here? Raining outside yeah? Why not in here too?" he bitterly spat back.

"You're disgusting," Arya said, her eyes going to mere slits as disdain etched itself so deeply into her face it was almost as if she were a different person.

He bowed, a sarcastic smile on his face as he turned to leave the tavern. After he'd relieved himself, he went over to Stranger but not before picking up his bucket overflowing with water. Poor horse was half soaked and half dry. Damn lean-to wasn't big enough for his whole body. Sandor pulled out a bar of soap, actually thankful he bought three bars and they hadn't gotten much use. He stripped, using Stranger as a blockade in-case Arya got suspicious and decided to take a stroll. _'Fucking little bitch. How the fuck's she related to Sansa?'_ He felt his stomach churn in anger. She looked at him the way everyone else did, but it seemed to cut worse. Arya was Sansa's blood. Hearing Arya tell him what he already knew hurt more than a knife to his gut. _'She'd never love you…I just know it!'_ Her words haunted him, over and over in his mind as he scrubbed violently at his body, using the rainwater to wash it away when he felt too angry to wash from the bucket.

He dunked his head in the bucket, scrubbing fiercely at his head, feeling his hair swish about, hoping he was getting any remaining dirt out. _'Whose going to find you appealing, dog?'_ he thought bitterly. _'Scrub all you bloody want. She won't look at you like she did Joffrey.'_ Sansa had been so enamored by the price when they first met in Winterfell. Sandor could remember the way her face would light up each time Joff came around, in all his pompous and shit-headed form. Sandor hoped the prince would choke and die…

The Hound had never cared how big of a prick Joffrey was before he'd met Sansa. He knew how vile his prince was, but he was just as vile. They got along rather well actually. Sandor would make a cruel jape, and Joffrey would laugh, or even shoot a joke right back. Joffrey wasted no time at giving Sandor a white cloak when King Robert died, even if Sandor was only a swornsword, and not a knight. Joffrey had trusted him; but he had wronged Sansa and thus he'd wronged Sandor Clegane.

The Hound could take a woman's cries, rape a woman if he felt like it, and kill a whore if it took his fancy, but the second he'd seen Sansa, that all had changed. He broke from his thoughts, not wanting to go back to so many years ago. Those years had given Sansa nothing but pain. She'd lost her father, her brothers, and part of her own soul. Joff saw to all of it.

Growling, as he noticed his thoughts had just wandered right back, he shoved his head once again into the cold rainwater, screaming into it. The sound was safeguarded against the girls. Only Sandor could hear his muffled scream of agony as anger burned like the fire that'd stolen his face. He wanted Joffrey dead. He wanted them all dead.

He pulled out of the water, his hair flinging a long turret of rain water through the air, splashing some of the lean-to and back into the downpour. He stood behind Stranger, feeling a lot better now that he was clean, feeling rather odd being out here naked. He almost wished someone would walk by, as long as it wasn't Arya or Sansa. He'd love to see someone's shocked face. _'Your bloody brother saw to all their deaths…_'

After his body dried enough, he pulled on the pants, the black shirt and the jerkin. He'd match Sansa perfectly with these clothes. It was like they were going to a funeral. He swiftly walked back into the tavern, seeing Sansa and Arya talking. Sansa's face was flushed and Arya's long face looked more like a horse than ever.

"Stop being an idiot!" Arya shouted at her sister.

"You're the one being the idiot," Sansa said, her eyes focused on her meal.

"What the fuck are you two going on about?" Sandor asked.

"For us to know and you to never find out," Arya said, glaring at him. She got up, gave him one last glare and then went up the stairs.

"I told her she's to bathe after eating," Sansa said, still stirring her soup around in its bowl. Sandor was sure the meal was cold by now.

"And she called you an idiot for that?" Sandor asked, raising a single brow in confusion.

"Oh, that," Sansa wiped her mouth with the cuff of her sleeve. Sandor knew if she'd been provided a napkin, she'd have never done that, it wasn't "ladylike" enough for her, yet she did it all the same. "She thinks you're just going to leave us with your gold and run away."

"What do you think?" Sandor asked, deep curiosity within him. He made his way over to her, sitting across from her at the table.

"I think you're better than that."

The words washed over him like a hot spring's gentle current. He gave her a small smile. It was crooked, and he couldn't really smile fully with his burns, but he tried as best he could. "What if I'm not?" he asked.

"The queen may have thought me foolish, but I can attest to knowing you a bit better than you lead yourself to believe. You won't leave me." There was a bite to her words. It made her all that much more beautiful.

"Your sister's the idiot then." He tried to smile again, yet he knew it was crooked and imperfect. He watched a blush creep into Sansa's cheeks, pink at first, but as it settled it gained more red in color, matching her hair and bringing out her eyes. He wanted to kiss her. Gods, he'd give anything to share a soft kiss from those pouted, pink lips. He sighed, standing and looking out the broken window. "Rains not looking like it'll stop."

"What would you have us do then?" she asked.

"Stay here till it lets up. I'm getting quite pressed for tolerance with your bleating sister. I'll smack her bloody if I have to hear her complaining about the rain."

He earned a soft giggle from her lips. Spring birds… He wanted to hear her giggle always. "I almost wish you'd smack her bloody then. I cannot wait to be rid of this place."

"It's shelter from the rain, Little bird."

"It's death…" she said, yet her voice sounded like it was worlds away.

He turned around, looking at her. Full eyelashes hid her eyes, and the color that resided in her cheeks had left in a vengeance, leaving pale, silken skin, almost like a statue. Even her lips looked pale now. He wanted to go to her, to take her in his arms again and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but he knew that to be a lie. Their futures were uncertain, and it could turn out very much not okay.

"We'll have to cross the Trident. In this rain, I don't think that's a good idea."

"I just want to leave this place as soon as we can," she said softly, her eyes downcast still.

Arya returned not but five minutes later. Sandor was almost relieved. The silence between them was as sharp as Ice had once been. Sandor looked her over. Her long face wasn't as dirty, but she had missed a few spots, not that he was going to tell her. Her hair was stringy as it swayed like rat-tails about her face. How was she related to Sansa?

"So, _dog,_ where now?" she asked.

"We wait out the rain. Amuse your own damn self." He sat down, staring out the window, feeling Arya's glare at his back. "And you keep glaring like that, I'll have your eyes like the man your sister found."

The rain had continued on for the entirety of the day. Sandor had never been so bored. He had hauled in his armor, wiping it down and cleaning what the rain did not clean off. It didn't seem like it was going to rust. That was nice. He searched about the tavern for any kind of useful supplies. Finding of course nothing. Sansa and Arya had taken turns telling each other stories. Sansa's were always full of love and happy endings, but Sandor found Arya's to be much more entertaining. He even found himself stopping to listen to her tell the story of the "swamp people" whom she claimed feasted on babies of a nearby village. He found that story to be quite amusing.

He'd searched the kitchen again, only finding potatoes and onions. He really didn't want to make that dreadful soup. "Bugger the damn pigs…" he growled as he walked out the tavern with sword in hand. Both Sansa and Arya had asked where he was going, but he hadn't answered. He didn't feel like having Sansa worry about more death and he just didn't want to hear Arya continue flapping her fucking tongue!

The sun had set behind the clouds, and even the moon struggled to shower the world with its light as the clouds continued crying onto the earth. He had trouble locating any pigs, but he found plenty of chickens, all huddling together, trying to stay warm and dry under overhangs of roofs. He finally found a wandering pig, drinking out of a puddle. He came up on it, ready to bring his sword down when he caught movement, reflected in his sword. He stopped, keeping still as he tried to listen to anything but the sound of the damn rain. Was he just imagining things?

He turned around, seeing dark shadows approaching him, and then laughter. He counted five men. They looked to be sellswords, but all Sandor saw was scum.

"You The Hound?" one asked. "Gone to killing pigs since you can't fight people anymore huh?"

"Fuck off," he growled, feeling his sword-hand twitch.

"Aye, that's him. Bet he whimpers like a bitch now," another said.

"You abandoned your king," the leader of them spoke again. At least Sandor assumed him the leader. He was in the nicest armor, and he liked to hear himself talk.

"We was told you'd got a bounty on your head now," a fat one said. "Dead or alive."

"Preferably dead," the leader said again, unsheathing his sword.

"You really that foolish?" Sandor spat, standing up to his full height. He towered over all of them. While his face remained unreadable, he was worried. If they all lunged, he'd have no way of protecting himself from them all. He'd get wounded eventually, maybe even die. He wished he had his armor now. He looked to the tavern, seeing a soft glow from inside. _'The little fools…'_ He prayed these men assumed the fire was his own. He prayed they'd leave if they did manage to kill him.

"We're not foolish. And no offense man. It's just business," the leader rambled, thinking himself clever.

"I'll cleave your bloody face off," Sandor warned, taking a step forward, hoping the man would take that as a challenge. "And shove my sword up your arse."

The leader swung his sword, but Sandor parried easily enough. He made sure to keep flicking his eyes behind him, lest someone come up that way. The leader swung again, again and again, but Sandor was able to parry each and every blow. The fool wasn't even strong enough to make Sandor feel he had to hurry. They circled each other, but Sandor always kept watch on the others, circling around _him._

Then another stepped in. He had two shorter swords, but he moved fast. Sandor had no choice but to unsheathe his dagger, force his way in and slash at the man's throat. He took a cut to the cheek, but at least he got to hear the sounds of that asswipe gurgle his own blood before he fell to his knees, dying.

"Still want me?" he growled at the leader. That seemed to piss him off, for he lunged, swinging his longsword at Sandor's legs, trying to wound him before he went to kill him. The parry Sandor gave was awkward and he felt a body jump on his own. He growled, using his left hand to fight against a dagger.

"Bring his arms back!" the leader shouted. "I'll stick him like the swine he is!"

He was released from the pain in his fingers from the blade, but his arms were pulled back. He turned around, feeling a thrust that went into the man on his back, hearing a gurgled shout in surprise, but thankfully the man's armor had stopped it from puncturing both of them. Sandor was only wearing his damn jerkin. He listened to the man on his back cry out, as he slid off him.

"That's two…" Sandor growled. "You fight like a woman."

"Go to hell," the leader shouted, throwing a dagger and swinging his sword. Sandor rolled, missing the dagger but taking a cut to the arm. He slashed at the man's ankles, watching him fall to his knees.

"You dogfucker!" the fat man shouted as he ran at Sandor. But Sandor only sliced open the fat man's belly, spilling intestines out, pulling them with his other hand to shove into the dying fatty's mouth.

"Eat this, fatass," he growled. They should have all attacked him at once… This was almost pathetic. "You're no sellsword…" Sandor rasped, looking at the dying man, seeing steam rise from those intestines, and getting a glimpse of a gold cloak.

"No, we were of the city guard!" the leader yelled, yet he didn't move. Blood pulsated from his ankles as he leaned against his sword.

Sandor looked to the last man, seemed fright had him like a dog to a bitch in season.

"The city guard eh?" Sandor mocked. "How is Tyrion? Dead yet?" He started circling the pair that remained.

"No. The bloody imp lives," the leader said, taking in a shaky breath. Sandor hoped his ankles were spreading pain like famine.

As Sandor went behind the frightened boy, he realized how young he was. _'We really were bloody desperate.'_ He shoved his dagger into the boy's skull. He saw the shock on the youth's face, and then a dullness came over those eyes as he fell to the ground.

The one on the ground laughed, his eyes full of rage. "More were sent to find you. We were separated from the group by the rain. They'll find you."

Sandor moved to stand in front of the irritable man. He then went to one knee. "Joffrey send them?"

"I don't have to tell you anything," the man spat, trying to slash at Sandor with his sword, but Sandor only took the blade in hand, and squeezed, allowing blood to drip down his arm. The man grunted, pulling the sword back, using it to lean on again.

"Aye, you don't." Sandor looked to his ankles, if the man tried that again, he'd fall back over, and Sandor would shove the sword down his throat. "Could be I could heal those wounds." He took out his dagger, still sticky with the boy's brains and blood. He cut through the man's fingers holding the sword swift, like a lightning strike.

The man shouted in both surprise and pain as blood flowed like a waterfall out his right hand. Sandor grunted. He'd wished it went through both hands, but it was at an odd angle. "Don't think I can heal those…" he said, clicking his tongue. He watched the man cradle his bleeding hand with the other, sword now forgotten. At least he was balanced. Seemed the sword was only for his damn protection.

The man laughed, either in shock, fear or actual amusement. Sandor looked around, he felt uneasy. "Who sent you?" he growled again. City guards didn't leave the city. That's what made this so strange to Sandor.

The man continued laughing. "I hope they burn you, when they finally catch you." He spat on Sandor's face.

"Brave fool. I hope you shit all over yourself." He stood up, walking behind the man. He wondered if the other was confused, but all his assumed confusion would be forever taken away as Sandor shoved his long sword up the man's ass, best he could, seeing the rest of the sword come out just right of the breastbone. He saw shit, and blood pour from the initial wound, and twisted for good measure. The force of the pull brought out a bit of intestine and more shit, which only made Sandor laugh. He kicked the man down, listening to the gurgling, and then silence. If he were a patient man, maybe he'd have found some clever way to get the lad to talk, but he wasn't patient and he wasn't all that clever. He wiped his blade clean on the youth's torso; the one he'd stabbed in the head. Boiled leather… King's Landing was rotting away in filth and debt.

"City guards… Not even bits of the army…" Was this all King's Landing could afford at the moment? Were their numbers so badly depleted this was all they could risk sending? The man had mentioned more were coming…

He looked up at the tavern, fear gripping at his heart. He ran, sword in hand, hair swinging back and forth like heavy yarn from the rain. He burst into the room, seeing Arya and Sansa both jump.

"You're hurt!" Sansa exclaimed.

"We have to leave now…" Sandor pulled both girls roughly.

"Why're you covered in blood!" Arya shouted, trying to wiggle her small wrist free. She didn't have to try too hard, Sandor's bloody hand let her slip out easy enough.

"Less questions more getting the fuck out of here," Sandor said pushing the small girl when he could no longer hold her wrist. Sansa went willingly, even though her eyes were round with horror.

"Sandor Clegane, if you don't tell me what's going on right now…" She left the threat to hang in the air like a dead man.

"Lannisters," was all he said.

They began running.

* * *

Song: The House of the Rising Sun by The Animals


	10. Chapter 10

_Shake me down,_  
_ Not a lot of people left around,_  
_ Who knows now,_  
_ Softly laying on the ground, ooooh_  
_ Not a lot people left around, ooooh. Ooooh_

_Chapter Ten-_

Sandor had gone back to the men he'd killed, stripping them and searching for any coin. He found a few silver and a handful of coppers. It was enough to buy something or other, when the time came to need it. Hastily, he ran from the dead, going back to Arya and Sansa, both already atop horse with eyes round and drowning in fright. He swung up on Stranger, taking the reins and kicking his horse forcefully.

The rain was still pounding against the ground, and it made their ride very uncomfortable. Sandor could hardly keep his eyes open, Arya complained about how it felt she was being beaten with small sticks and Sansa simply cried. He felt terrible, but he couldn't risk them staying there anymore. He couldn't risk them staying anywhere that wasn't with Robb… But he was still leagues away.

So they continued riding, bearing the pelting rain and tree branches that smacked them across the face when Sandor couldn't see well enough to avoid them. His injuries from his fight were beginning to cry out at him, but he couldn't stop to care for them. He hoped the rain would keep them clean for the most part, till he could use some of the wine he'd stocked up on from the village on his wounds. He was grateful for his alcoholism, seemed a trait he'd never have to part with as it seemed to come in handy here and then.

Another tree branch smacked his face, he felt the sting and the blood as it crawled to the side's of his cheeks before flying off into the wind from the pace Stranger was keeping. He wished he could go faster, but Arya's mare was older and not nearly as well bred as Stranger. The poor stallion had to keep pace with the white mare. He looked down, seeing Sansa shivering, but if she'd stopped crying or not, he couldn't tell, for the rain mixed with the tears.

This was all his fault.

Sure, she'd still be a bird locked in a cage, or perhaps even dead if she'd stayed at King's Landing, but anything had to be a bit better than this, it seemed. She was miserable, always hungry, living off the bare necessities and traveling with a companion she'd never cared for before.

'_Yet she bloody said she cared last night…_'

Maybe things would have been better if he'd just left her there, but now wasn't the time to remorse for bad decisions. He promised to keep her safe, and so he took a better grip on the reins, feeling the rain hit down like pellets of iron, and just continued to run.

They'd stopped when Arya fell off her horse. She'd fallen asleep, or passed out, Sandor wasn't sure. Either way, the she-wolf couldn't keep going, and it seemed Sansa had had enough of the pelting rain. Her face had tiny red spots, dotting all over from where rain had hit, and tearstains fell from her eyes down her chin; not to mention the thin lines where branches had whipped her face. Sandor felt more than guilty about that.

The rain continued to pour, and even Sandor held Arya as they huddled together as close as they all could under a tree, using both the mare and Stranger to block the wind. Their furs were wet; the satchels across Stranger's rump were wet, and anything inside as well. Sandor had forgotten how miserable rain travel was. He felt Arya's head roll against his shoulder, settling on his chest. He was sure she had simply came to exhaustion at that point.

He looked to his right, seeing Sansa's face, buried within his jerkin, trying to keep the rain from hitting her pale cheeks, and warm her nose. There wasn't much warmth to give, but he kept the two of them close, never once shutting his eyes as the dawn crept up from over the hills, still hidden with thick rainclouds.

"You should sleep too," Sansa said. Sandor didn't know if it had been just one or several hours that had passed, but the sky was light gray on the horizon, giving him a bit of hope, and he could faintly see the sun trying to break from the dark clouds.

"No," he stated.

"You look terrible…"

"Nothing's changed then." He felt her hand against his cheek, it was icy cold, but he'd never felt so warm. Gray eyes locked with blue.

"What I meant was," she said, running her thumb over his unscathed cheekbone. "Your lips are blue."

Sandor chewed his lips, trying to beat the cold away from them. "I'll be fine, Little bird."

"You've got so many cuts…"

"Rains cleaning them fine."

That seemed to quench her worry. She pulled her hand back, settling it under the soaked fur. At least their body heat was kept somewhat under the cold furs. "Let me clean them when the rain stops," she said after a moment of silence.

"Aye, Little bird." He felt her head against his chest again. His eyes were heavy but he refused to sleep. He couldn't protect them if he fell asleep. The rain continued berating the earth, soaking everything it could with its cold bite. Sandor closed his eyes, listening to the rain, so familiar in sound, and yet each raindrop fell with its own rhythm. His head was pressed against the tree, which was slowly giving him a headache. He felt Arya stir, and cold replaced where her head had once been.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking around.

"Dunno. Hopefully closer to the Twins," he answered.

"Hopefully?" Arya countered, staring up at Sandor like he'd grown a second head.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, hopefully. You try directing us at night with rain, branches and the potential threat of you two getting killed."

That seemed to settle her. She moved away, most likely out of pride, and clung to a single fur. He watched her out the corner of his burned eye, seeing her shake. Her own lips were about as blue as the ocean.

"You'd be warmer if you came back to me."

"I wont sit next to a murderer," she spat.

He sighed, shrugging lightly and looking straight out. The rain wasn't so hard against him with the canopy of leaves above, but some still found their way. The wind was worse than anything really. "You're a bloody fool, I hope you know."

She looked at him with all the loathing, disdain she could muster. "And why's that?" she spat.

"If you want to survive, you best come to terms that honor doesn't mean shit."

That seemed to strike a nerve. "My father-"

"Oh, he's alive huh? Man had a lot of honor. What good did it do him?"

Arya looked like a wounded deer, lost and away from her stag protector. She ran her fingers through the sopping fur that covered her small legs. Sandor had never seen an image so broken. It wasn't pity though, that resided in his face; it was only a blank stare. He felt no guilt or remorse for Arya, just as he felt no guilt or remorse for Sansa. Their father died. People died. That was the end of that.

He rested his head back against the tree trunk, feeling its curves fight the shape of his skull, as it pressed uncomfortably into it. He thought he'd closed his eyes only for a minute. But when he woke, the clouds were light gray and the girls were laying furs over tree branches to dry them.

Sandor stood up, shivering a bit as his clothing was still cold and wet against his skin. Sansa smiled at him, Arya simply looked and then looked away.

"All the wood is too wet to start a fire," Sansa said.

"Aye, that's what rain does, Little bird."

She simply looked to her feet, playing with her fingers. Sandor instantly regretted his statement, yet he made no motion to revoke the sentence.

"We should be moving on now," he said, pulling the furs off the trees.

"We just hung those!" Arya snapped.

"Do I look like I care?" he sneered, pulling another down and rolling it up, watching raindrops fall from the sides.

"No. You look like a killer," she spat back.

"Don't you fucking forget it, wolf-bitch."

Sansa had remained silent all through the bickering. She usually at least voiced her displeasure, but something was off about her today. Sandor looked to her face. It was pale with a bit of a flush. Her eyes seemed duller, and it looked like she'd been punched, as deep purple circles haunted her eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'll be fine. We need to go, like you said." Ever the diligent, and obedient. Sandor rolled his eyes, but he stuffed the furs into the packs about Stranger's rump and they left without another word.

Rain fell from the trees, but the sky seemed to be all cried out. They kept at a fast pace, only stopping when the mare simply refused to continue moving anymore. Sandor wanted to cut its fucking head off. It was wasting their time. Arya had voiced her opinion that they should find a village, several times, but Sandor felt it wouldn't be the best idea. Then again, Sansa had nearly fell off the horse several times, and her body felt hot, even if she continued shivering.

Despite what he wanted, he had to keep her alive. So much to his dismay, he'd agreed with Arya that a village with living people, would be best. Sandor finally got his bearings when they came to a river.

"Red Fork," he stated.

"We've gone so far?" Arya said with enthusiasm.

"Aye, but I know which Inn is up here…and I don't know if we should trust it."

Arya pulled her horse around, to look at both Sansa and The Hound. "Why not?"

"It's the Inn of the Kneeling Man."

"So Joffrey's army could be there…" Arya finished.

"Aye, she-wolf. Aye." Sandor moved Stranger closer, wondering if this was the best decision or not. "We could easily say you're a boy. Look as dirty as one. But your sister…" He looked down at Sansa. She now had a yellow hue to her. Her eyes were hollow with blacks and purples all around them. "She needs a maester."

"Harroway's Town," Sansa mumbled. At first, Sandor hadn't known what she said, but as he sat for a moment, reflecting it, he knew he'd heard correctly.

"That's further than the Inn, Little bird," Sandor said, putting his hand on her forehead. She was burning up. He felt a bit of panic. The Lannisters wanted him dead, they probably wanted Sansa dead as well. Robb was still too far away and he felt every man they may meet would be an enemy.

"Harroway's Town…" Sandor said, turning his horse southeast, following down the Red Fork.

It had been two more days before they reached the town. Guards were posted almost everywhere, but it wasn't an unfriendly town. Sandor had turned one of the blankets into a hood of which he wore over his head, making sure no man saw his face. Arya was pretending to be a boy, his son, in fact, and Sansa was his eldest daughter, a fact he felt quite uncomfortable with. They had gone over their lies over and over as they traveled, yet Sansa hardly spoke. Her condition worsened. She had first started shivering, then the cough, and then she'd begun vomiting.

Sandor had made sure she drank plenty of water and tried to always keep her warm, but she needed a man with knowledge on medicine. They went straight to the inn. The price took a bit of haggling with the use of Arya and her sob story of her sister and how The Mountain that Rides had killed their entire village. The innkeep took pity and only took one silver from Sandor. He figured he liked Arya a bit more after that.

They were given a complimentary free bath, which was steaming hot. Sandor felt it too dangerous to go to tavern, so he kept in the room, his back turned as Arya helped Sansa out of her clothes and into the bath. Each time he heard Sansa cough, it was as if an arrow was being shot into his heart. Even with the Lannisters, she would have at least been warm. Here she shook like an earthquake and had the skin of a wight.

He sat with his back still to them as the girls both stripped and washed their clothing. Instead of feeling strangely awkward about the situation, he battled with his eyes as they wished to simply close and never wake. He had felt exhaustion before, but never to this degree. His body was tired, but his mind was simply breaking from its perilous fighting and worry. He went to his side, using his arm as a pillow and finally allowed himself a bit of rest, within the warm inn.

"You shouldn't wake him," he heard a gentle voice, it was hushed, and the sounds of a fire cracked behind that soothing voice, yet Sandor had no urge to open his eyes, even if the flames were present, and he could feel their heat. The warmth was much appreciated after the rain.

"You need a maester," a much younger voice said, it held an edge, and was clearly displeased.

"I'm fine. I just want to rest."

"You need medicine!"

"Arya! Sh! You'll wake him."

"I don't care! He's not sick! You are!" Sandor heard shuffling of feet, but his eyes were so content with unseeing, he dared not open them. "I'm finding you a maester."

"Arya no!" He heard the door shut, and despite what he wished, he felt the need to open his eyes and look about. Sansa was at the foot of the bed, next to him, there was a fire gently mocking him from the fireplace and Arya gone.

"Where'd that bitch go?" Sandor growled, standing up.

"She went to get the maester," Sansa said.

"You're ill."

"I'm fine. I just needed proper food and rest. All of which I've gotten here."

Sandor turned, grabbing her shoulders and resisting the urge to shake her. His eyes were angry but immediately, they turned to worry and pain. "If you die…" His voice was broken, and he knew he looked like a fool.

Yet her smile was as bright as the moon in a dark night, and she shrugged him off only to embrace him with her delicate arms. "I knew you cared," she said.

"Aye Little bird." He rested his head against hers. "So much."

She let go of him first, crawling down on the bed and pulling the blankets over her. "I'd feel safer if you slept next to me."

Awkwardly, Sandor looked everywhere but her. "Uh…" he said intelligently.

Sansa sat up, forcing his eyes to lock with hers. They had some kind of pull, an ability Sandor hadn't seen before.

"I didn't mean…" Blush filled her cheeks as she seemed to be unable to continue speaking.

The scene quickly went comical, and they both laughed. Sandor moved to sit next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as she moved to rest her head against his chest. She grabbed one of his hands, tracing the lines on his palms. "You're hands are so rough," she stated.

"Swords."

"I guess that was stupid of me," she said, dropping his hand.

"It wasn't stupid, Little bird. Just obvious." They laughed again.

"Do you think she'll find the maester?" Sansa asked.

"Dunno. You Starks are a lot more clever than I gave you credit."

"I don't feel as sick as I did before. Honest."

She sounded like a child, and with that, he moved away, going to sit instead of lay. He rested his face in his palms, sighing heavily. "Have I done something wrong?" she asked, her voice laced a bit with what he couldn't decide was anger or worry.

"No."

"Then…why?"

"You ask so many questions, do you know that? You and your sister both. Bleating at me over and over, "Where are we going, why are we here, what are you doing, why are you doing that?" Over and fucking over."

"Excuse us for not wanting to be kept in the dark!" Sansa fought back, the bite coming back into her voice. "I can't stomach you sometimes."

"I can't stomach you always." The words were out before he had a chance to recoil. He heard her gasp, but after that, only a silence as strong and cold as winter's grasp held the room. He turned, just to see her barely over his shoulder. She'd moved away, sitting at the window, staring out.

"Little bird," he rasped, going nearer to her.

"No. You stay there, Hound."

His legs stopped moving. The fire cracked, like it was laughing at him. He glared at it, cursing it with all the anger he wished to throw at Sansa.

"I didn't mean that," was all he said.

She turned back to him, looking like she had something to say, but whatever it was, was lost once the door opened and a man with a chain around his neck came in, followed by Arya.

* * *

Song: Shake Me Down by Cage the Elephant


	11. Chapter 11

I apologize for taking (probably a normal amount of time for "normal" writers) but a long time for me! My life has gotten very busy with my jobs and blah blah. Thank you for the continued reviews, alerts, and faves. I apologize for the roughness of this. I never proofread fanfiction. /shame.

* * *

_Hopelessly, I'll love you endlessly_  
_ Hopelessly, I'll give you everything_  
_ But I won't give you up._  
_ I won't let you down_  
_ And I won't leave you falling_  
_ If the moment ever comes_

_Chapter Eleven_

The maester had come and gone, giving Sansa some herbal medicines and some tea to drink nightly before bed. During her examination, Sandor had stormed out, huffing and cursing. Quite frankly right now, Sansa didn't care. She hated him! How could she have thought that for even just a small moment that he'd be anything but cold, cruel, and disgusting. Yet when she thought back on how he'd held her, or the softer things he'd said.

'_And the apples…'_

She hit her head back against the baseboard. It stung for a moment, before leaving a dull throbbing ache, yet all she wanted to do was focus on that pain.

Arya had been quiet, surprisingly. When Sansa looked over, she was curled up on the bed like a cat, sleeping soundly. So that's why she was so silent…

Sansa stood up, her stomach protesting as it churned. The maester had said she was quite sick, but it wasn't anything simple medicines couldn't fix. The gentle, old man was quite sure it was from all the traveling and rain. She slowly began putting on her lighter dress, the gray and white one. It felt nice and clean, but it did have some stains from the journey.

She heard someone stir, and a bit of mumbling. "Sansa? You're sick! The maester said you're to be sleeping."

"I don't want to be sleeping," Sansa responded stubbornly, her face determined and cold.

Arya didn't knit her brow though. She looked at her sister for a long time, with that long horse-face and those big eyes. She looked so much like their father. It made Sansa want to cry. "I just want you safe."

"I know, sister."

"But I guess wherever you're going, I'm going with you." Arya jumped from the bed, stretching a bit.

"No. This doesn't concern you."

Arya then furrowed her brow. Her eyes were distant, like she was thinking so deeply that she was lost to the current world. "You're going to find him aren't you?"

"He has a name," Sansa defended.

"He's cruel to us. You hear what he calls me! And the way he looks at you…"

Sansa knew she was supposed to be angry at Sandor Clegane, but she felt sorry for him too. He was so heavily guarded within his own skin that Sansa was sure he hadn't meant half the things he'd said. Sure, he was mean to Arya, but he was helping her all the same. "The way he looks at me?"

Arya fumbled with her fingers, her face full of shame and fear. She looked so much younger than she was. It was almost frightening. "You know what happened to our Aunt. I think he wants to do the same to you…"

"You think he wants to rape me?" Sansa said loudly, her eyes round in shock. "Arya! He's done nothing but help us! He's been kind in his own way-"

"To ransom us back to Robb!" Arya defended. "And he calls me a bitch!"

"You call him a murderer!" Sansa yelled.

"THAT'S BECAUSE HE IS ONE!" Arya had never yelled so loud. Sansa was sure the whole world heard that scream. Her red hair blocked her face as she backed up, sitting back on the bed, feeling like she'd vomit again. Arya was right. No matter how kind the Hound seemed to be, sometimes, he was still a murderer. He'd killed in cold blood, he'd killed in tournaments, and he'd probably do it again. He even killed those men at the abandoned village.

"Then what do we do?" Sansa asked weakly.

"We have to get away from him," Arya said quietly.

Sansa couldn't tell if she was sick from her illness or sick from the thought of leaving Sandor. She felt uncertain about this. The two of them were girls. With no protection, what hope did they have to reach Robb?

"I…don't think that's wise, Arya," Sansa said, her voice shaken.

"I was alone. We could stick to the trees and rivers. Never come to towns. Stay away from people. We could do it."

"You were alone, and you got captured by men. Arya, this isn't a good idea."

Before Arya had a chance to protest, the door swung open, and there was Sandor Clegane. His face was unreadable, but Sansa figured he was still upset. Yet instead of melting and apologizing herself, she hardened her own expression, turning away from him as if she didn't even notice he'd come in.

Arya backed up, her eyes like a mouse's. "He's been drinking."

"Glad your nose works, bitch," Sandor responded, going over to the wooden chair by the fire, only he pulled it away into the corner by the window.

"You shouldn't call me that," Arya defended. "I'm a Stark.."

"A traitor's daughter. The both of you. No one bloody cares."

Sansa felt like crying. She sat back down on the bed, clutching her stomach. She made sure her back was to him. She didn't want him to see her face._ 'Why can't I stop caring for you?'_

Arya didn't respond. She went over to Sansa, lying on the bed beside her and rubbing her back. "We can't leave till she's better," Arya said changing the subject.

"Stating the obvious, wolf." Sansa noted that Sandor hadn't cursed that time. She almost wanted to smile, except she felt so miserable. How could they go from being curled in each other's arms and laughing to this? What had she done wrong? Actually, she had insulted him. She knew it, and he'd reacted in his typical way. She needed to apologize. She couldn't take this feeling in her belly.

She felt her tears slip from her eyes, warm at first, but as they rolled slowly down her skin, over her cheeks and nose, they cooled. She hated this. If Arya wasn't in the room, she could apologize. Yet she couldn't blame her sister. They'd been separated for so long! Arya was doing what a good sister would do, something Sansa would have never done for her before.

"I want to get some fresh air, from outside," Sansa said. "Sandor, will you please come with me?" She hoped this little plan worked.

Arya looked like she was going to protest, but she said nothing. Sansa could see the anger in her eyes though.

"Fine," Sandor growled.

He followed her out, steadying her on the stairs and always keeping a firm grasp on her arm. Sansa felt nervous. Her stomach flipped, making her tighten her throat, not wanting to vomit. She had to be strong, and swallow what little pride she had left. She had to make this better! Or it was only going to get worse.

Once they were outside, she took a few steps away from him, allowing her throat to open and take in the air. It wasn't stuffy like it was inside, but it still smelled heavily of rain and each time she gasped for air, it felt like someone was throwing ice knives down her throat. "I'm sorry," she said softly. When she heard no response, she turned to Sandor.

He'd been looking away, up at the moon. "Excuse me?" she said incredulously.

His eyes finally found her, yet his expression didn't change. It was blank, hard and almost lifeless, yet Sansa had learned to read the terrain of that face. He was hurting.

"I said that I apologize for what I said earlier."

He shrugged.

She felt rage enter her heart. How could he be so stupid? Or was he enjoying this? "You've nothing to say?"

"Don't have to apologize. You made it clear to me before. No need to pretend, girl."

She wanted him to call her his "Little bird." This wasn't going the way she'd planned! Maybe the queen was right. Maybe she really was stupid. "What am I pretending?" she asked trying to hide her anger and fear, yet she seemed to fail as her voice shook.

"Have you looked at yourself? Have you looked at me?"

The question made her blink a few times, furrowing her brow.

"You're gorgeous, and young. I'm…" He shifted his weight, trying to look anywhere but at her. "Well."

"You would've been so handsome," she said softly. "But I don't blame you for your scars. It wasn't your fault."

"You and everyone else have always looked upon me with fear. You worst of all once." He began pacing. "I'm not an empty shell made for killing and dirty work. You think it doesn't hurt me? When a small child comes up to you, only to begin crying, you think I'm okay with it?"

"It's not your fault!"

"That's not the point you bloody child!" he shouted. His voice was so deep it almost felt like the world rumbled when he yelled. "I can't…" he said much quieter, his face etched with a pain Sansa had never seen before. "You go back to Robb, and this fantasy will go away, and I won't be able to take it."

Sansa remained quiet. Her eyes were as round as a doe's. It all began to make sense. He was afraid… He put up barriers of anger and shells of self-defense, but he felt every insult, every odd look. He felt it all and he had no one to go home to go make it all better. There was no woman he could cry to, nor a father to rely on. He was all alone.

"It's not a fantasy," she said softly, walking up to him, stilling his pacing with a gentle outreached hand, grasping his arm. He stopped, yet he wouldn't look at her. So she pressed her hand against his scars, feeling the leathery skin, and the bone. She turned his head to face her. "I love you." She hadn't realized it before. Part of her probably was trying to avoid this, but she loved him. He'd been her knight in shining armor all along. This story, was as magical as the ones she used to love. A beauty with a beast, and yet there could be a happy ending. There could be, Sansa knew it!

She felt a single tear roll down his face to catch in the skin of her hand. He brought his own hand, much larger and rougher to cradle hers. "Please don't lie to me."

"I'm not."

Their noses brushed against each other's. Her stomach churned again, but it wasn't sick; it was elated. It was leaping for joy. She was able to finally do something right. She just prayed it would stay this way. His other hand ran up her arm, gently like a feather, up into her hair. He pulled her closer, their lips finally touching. She wanted to giggle from the sensation of the scratchy side of his mouth, yet moan from the smooth, silken tissue that remained unbroken by his brother's horrors. Their tongues, shyly at first met, but she pressed closer, taking control of the kiss, and forcing herself further, exploring his mouth. He tasted of wine, and maybe a bit of misery, but Sansa didn't care.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. She couldn't get him close enough! She felt his heart beating, pounding against her chest as her own tried to spring from its bone prison to join with his. Her loins burned with a pain yet pleasure she had never felt before. Her toes even tingled. She hadn't noticed when she was picked up, her legs clinging desperately to his sides, hooking at the ankles. She'd done it. She'd finally gotten through to him, and it was the most beautiful moment of her life.

It wasn't until she heard someone gasp that they broke, he almost dropped her, backing away like a guilty thief. Sansa's dream, her elation, and everything so confusing and wonderful she'd just experience dimmed to a dull memory, one she tried to capture to relieve, but it never seemed the same.

Arya stood there with a look on her face that Sansa only could feel guilty about. Her eyes, so much like their father's bore into her like a knife to the throat. Sansa wanted to say something, to smooth this out, but Arya took off like a fox.

"Arya!" Sandor shouted, chasing after her. Sansa stood there, her body tingling and her soul screaming. _'Chase after them you idiot!'_ Her feet were clumsy, and she felt like mud was trying to bring her down into the soft earth each time she moved. The cold air pierced her eyes, making them water and her throat burn. She couldn't catch up to them. She couldn't keep going.

She collapsed to the ground, vomiting right in front of her, choking loudly on the vile liquid that betrayed her body. Her eyes watered, spilling tears and her nose drained of its own liquid. She sniffed loudly, using her hand to wipe at the snot, feeling utterly disgusted with herself. Each time she blinked, her eyes burned and she could swear they were puffy and inflamed enough her eyelids weren't completely closing over them.

The wind blew, howling at her, urging her to get up and keep going, but she couldn't. She curled in on herself, whimpering and trying to choke back vomit, yet it still came until nothing was left but uncomfortable dry heaving.

"Damn it!" he heard someone shout. She felt herself being picked up like a doll, cradled against a large, warm chest. "Little bird, you should be inside."

She tried to close her eyes, yet they hurt so much. No matter what they hurt! She coughed, her spine rattling violently, making her back burn with the movement. She was inside quickly, the warmth of fires soothing her aches and the comfort of her bed giving her a sense of security.

Sandor didn't bother with pulling off her dress. He gave her a pained look before leaving again. Sansa figured it was to find Arya. Why'd she run off? Why couldn't she have just listened? Sandor was nothing like Arya thought. Yes, he was a killer, but it wasn't…truly him, right? That kiss… No evil man could kiss like that. It had left her whole body in a trance. There was no way Sandor was a vile person. He was good! Just different…

But he was still the killer of Arya's stupid friend. That butcher's boy. She remembered when they'd given the man his son back… He'd thought it a pig at first. She could only imagine the pain of finally recognizing it as his son. She suddenly felt so very sorry for the man. Did Sandor feel sorry? Did he regret any of the killings he'd committed? He'd killed that other knight in a tourney on Joffrey's name day. It was only a tournament too! Did he feel sorry? The knight had family…

Sansa forced her eyes shut, knitting her brow together as she tried to keep them closed through the burning. She coughed violently, feeling tears sting at the corners of her eyes. Sandor was good… He had to be. He had to regret! She grabbed for her medicine, pouring a cup of water and drinking down the syrupy, yet clumpy liquid and washing it down with the water. She lay back on the bed, her head finally quieting down and her cough subsiding. She closed her eyes, falling asleep not too long after.

When she woke, no one was in the room. A panic sized her heart, like someone trying to tear it from her body. She stood up slowly, taking more of her medicine and washing it down with the water, brushing her hair, and then going downstairs. She found no trace of Arya or Sandor in the inn's small first floor. A few people were eating yet she didn't recognize any of them, thus she couldn't even ask if they'd seen her travel companions.

"Checking out, sweetling?" a woman's voice asked. "Your father's going to have to pay extra if you don't soon. Gotta make a livin' n all." Her voice was brutal. Sansa wanted to smack her.

"Where is he? And my sister?"

The woman shrugged. "Didn't see them last night. Saw only you."

"My sister ran away. They fought."

"Huh. Well, if you don't have the coin…"

"I've got it," a rugged voice answered, laced thick with irritation. Sansa looked up to see Sandor and Arya. He had Arya by the neck. She looked like a rabid wolf! Her cheek was bruised too. _'No…he wouldn't have. That must have been from a tree…'_

Sandor shoved a few coins into the woman's hand violently before pushing Arya up the stairs. "We're staying till that one gets better." He pointed at Sansa, but made no move to make eye contact with either the woman, or Sansa.

The innkeep shrugged, going back into the kitchen. "Can I get you some food sweetling?" she called from the door.

"Sweet cream and a biscuit perhaps?" Sansa asked.

"I'll have it to you soon."

Sansa sat down, staring at the stairs, wondering if Sandor would come back down. What happened out there? She wanted to talk to Arya, but she knew when the girl was angry, there was no reasoning. She was a Stark after all. Stubborn.

Sansa coughed politely into her dirty handkerchief, trying to keep it as silent as she could so no one stared. She felt phlegm stick to the back of her throat. She stood up, going over to the small window where she could see into the kitchen and asked for some water.

She walked back, sitting down at her table, nursing her drink. Her eyes flickered to the sound of heavy stomping coming down the stairs. She saw Sandor, in his black jerkin and shirt. There was a rip on the shoulder. She'd have to mend that. He looked so handsome in that jerkin… She smiled warmly at him.

"How's Arya?" she asked.

"She wants to, and I quote, "Ram a fucking stick up my arse and out my disgusting mouth and laugh as I choke on it."

Sansa was astonished. How could such a sentence come from her sister! Then again… "And that was exactly what she said?"

"Think me a liar?"

"N-no. I'm just…shocked."

"Course you are, Little bird. Why'm I not surprised?"

Sansa didn't respond for a bit. He was always a bit rough, but his tone wasn't too bad. He seemed more tired than anything. "How'd you get her back?"

"Knocked her out." He shrugged, like it wasn't an issue.

"You hit her?" Sansa asked, her mouth open in shock.

"Tell me, would you rather me come back without all my fingers or with them?" He showed her his hand. There were teeth marks and clawing. It was like an animal attack.

"She did this?"

"Aye," he responded, nodding. Sansa took his hands in hers, running her fingers delicately over the wounds.

"We need to clean these," she said.

"Eat first. I'll deal with them later. It's only your sister anyway."

"Exactly, thus you should be worried," Sansa joked.

They shared a quiet laugh before Sansa was served her food. She thanked the server and slowly began to nibble on her food.

Everything he did, he had a reason for it. That's how Sansa felt. If he killed, there was a reason. He killed that knight to impress Joffrey, he killed those men to protect her and Arya. Even back at King's Landing, he'd killed for her. She smiled to herself, breaking a part of her biscuit and offering it to Sandor. He smiled his small, crooked smile before taking it.

Yes, he had a reason to kill. It didn't make him a bad person. He was good to her in his own way, and that's as far as Sansa was willing to push it.

* * *

Song: Endlessly by Muse


	12. Chapter 12

I apologize that I've been slowing down. It's not due to lack of interest, BELIEVEEEE MEE, haha, it's due to increased hours at work and a Renfair XD

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_"Run fast for your mother run fast for your father_  
_Run for your children for your sisters and brothers"_

_Chapter Twelve_

They'd stayed at the inn for four days after the night Arya ran away. Sansa had gotten better, quite quickly with her medicine and rest. Yet it had been an awkward four days, but at times, pleasant. Sandor had to make sure Arya didn't run away every few seconds, as well as checking up on Sansa. She was quite grateful for his company though.

She'd grown so bored in that bed, so on the second night after Arya had run away, he'd brought her a book and read to her. She'd never imagined him to be such a good storyteller, but he was. His chocolate voice, with just that bit of bitter tea flowed over the words like warm butter, caressing each syllable and pausing when it was almost unbearable for Sansa. She'd have to smack him gently for him to reveal the rest of the story.

While they had shared smiles, Arya had given glares. She hadn't once spoken to her sister since she'd seen the two kiss. Sansa had tried though. She'd even ask Arya to brush her hair or small things like fetching a candle or sending for Sandor when he was downstairs. Arya always did these things, but she never once spoke to Sansa, no matter how many times Sansa apologized. The silence was worse than screaming. Sansa _wanted_ Arya to scream at her. She wanted to hear how angry and betrayed her sister felt, but Arya remained silent, and thus Sansa felt miserable.

Yet whenever Sandor would read to her, she'd forget about Arya or the fleeting sickness from her body, and just fly away on the cadence of Sandor's voice.

Which was why being on the back of a horse, even if Sandor was right behind her, was absolutely dreadful. She missed that warm bed and those nights. They felt like centuries ago, even if it had only been the previous night.

Sandor had placed a harness of sorts from Stranger to the white mare so Arya couldn't flee. It pained Sansa to see her sister so untrusted; yet she knew that if Arya had a chance, she'd dart away and never look back.

"You'll be seeing your brother soon," Sandor said to Arya. Sansa interpreted it as his way of trying to smooth things out. She appreciated the sentiment.

Arya didn't even twitch. Her gaze was focused on the path ahead.

Sansa sighed, leaning back into Sandor's chest. She felt his arms tighten a bit around her. It almost made her giggle, yet her gaze went back to Arya and she felt guilty for her feelings again.

She needed to talk to Arya; to get her to understand, but the task was proving so difficult. It was like Arya had closed in on herself. She moved around like she was supposed to, ate and breathed, but she wasn't really…there.

Sansa pursed her lips, trying to think of ways to approach the situation. She needed to be alone with her sister, for one, and that would easily be accomplished, especially since she'd finally gotten through to Sandor. A simple "leave us be," and he 'd walk right out. It was the reaching Arya part that was the issue. This shell of a human next to her had hidden Arya so deeply inside. Sansa wondered how she'd be able to reach her sister.

They had stopped a few hours later by the Red Fork. Sandor had to measure the depth of the water; otherwise there was no crossing for them.

Sansa sat by her sister, who was still "dead" to the world. She looked at her out the corner of her eye, and then back to Sandor, watching as he measured the depths by going out as far as he could. She didn't mind the view though. He'd removed his shirt and jerkin to avoid getting completely soaked. Sansa knew he was built, but she'd never really understood just how _carved_ he was. His muscles were like small, cascading, gentle mountains, chiseled to perfection with age, only in his case, it was experience. He wasn't a hairless man, but Sansa really liked his coat of chest and stomach hair. She especially liked the trail leading down to his…

Her eyes rounded at her thought, and she instantly looked back to Arya, who seemed to be staring at Sandor. "At least we didn't have to get in right?"

Arya remained silent.

"Arya…" Sansa began, but she saw Sandor go under, and her heart stopped momentarily. She stood up quickly, running to the edge, her eyes scanning the river for sight of him.

He popped up only a few feet from where he went under, a look of irritation on his face as he moved upstream, fighting the current. "Do you need help?" she offered.

He returned her question with laughter. She rolled her eyes, yet she knew he was completely right. She'd have looked foolish trying to fight the current, and would probably have drowned in the process.

She went back to Arya, sitting in front of her. Arya then closed her eyes.

"You're acting like a child…" Sansa huffed. Her sister did nothing. "Fine, if you want to play this game, I'm going to talk and you'll listen. I was going to apologize and at least see if we could work this out but-"

"I hate you."

The words pierced Sansa's soul, cracking it. Shattering it into thousands of tiny, pristine, white shards, exploding across the universe. She then regretted her snappy introduction. She should have kept much more humble about it! _'Stupid! Stupid! She doesn't hate you… She can't hate you.'_ Yet despite her mantra, she still was beginning to feel sick again. Only instead of the elements afflicting her, it was her own conscience. "Arya… I didn't…. I'm sorry."

Arya stood up, walking over to her mare. Her arms were crossed and her expression still blank. Sansa followed her.

"Please, just listen to me!" Sansa exclaimed desperately. "I need you to listen!"

"Why?" Arya spat. At least she was talking. Sansa had to tread carefully here.

"You're my sister."

"I didn't want to go to King's Landing. I didn't think Joffrey was a good person. I don't like _him_." She pointed over to Sandor, who seemed to have crossed the river fine and was catching his breath. "But no matter my opinion, you never seem to care. So why now? What's changed?"

"We almost lost each other! I thought you were dead!" Sansa shouted. She was sure Sandor could hear her. "He was the only one who protected me after they killed Father. He was the _only_ one there for me." Her words were sharp, like a sword but she wasn't fighting her sister. She was simply trying to get through to her!

Arya went back to being silent, her gaze dropping to the ground.

"Arya, you're my blood. I do love you. I don't care how much you hate me, but I love you. But, I…I love him too." Admitting that to Arya was like being flayed at the Dreadfort. Sansa's whole body cringed and she wanted to pass out.

Her sister didn't do anything though. She didn't even acknowledge the sentence.

That was worse than Arya's outbursts though, just as it had been all day with travel, and the days past. Sansa wanted to cry.

Sandor crossed back. Sansa assumed he knew it was safe when the shouting subsided. His hair hung around his face like tiny strings of yarn, just a bit curly from the water. His thick stubble on his face glistened from the thousands of water droplets that clung desperately to his face. The scars shined more than they usually did, but as usual, Sansa didn't even care that they were there. She smiled sadly at him. He simply nodded; understanding lacing his eyes.

"We cross there. The horses will be able to make it. Won't be but a few hours till we reach the Blue Fork." He untied Stranger and the mare, waiting for Arya to take the reins of the smaller horse.

Like something undead, Arya moved when prompted, but she made no move to speak or even glare at Sandor. She simply took the reins and waited as Sandor picked her up, and put her on the horse. He did the same for Sansa and then swung up on Stranger. "Best follow me, girl," he said to Arya.

The river pushed against their legs, and the horses fought the current, but they made it safe and sound. Everyone had gone quiet. Sansa felt that the entire forest had gone quiet. She sat atop Stranger, her eyes staring, but not seeing. She didn't know what to do about Arya. She leaned her head back against Sandor's chest, closing her eyes. She'd think later. She could feel a headache coming on as it was, and she was so tired from thinking.

The sun was setting when Sansa woke again. Her lower back ached horribly and her thighs were numb. She shifted uncomfortably, groaning a bit as her knees protested the movement. She forgot how much she hated horseback riding. "How much further?" she asked.

"You deaf?" Sandor responded.

"Excuse me?" she snapped.

"Look ahead, Little Bird." His tone was flat, like he pitied her, but Sansa was sure it was more that he was tired. She looked ahead, seeing the river flowing slowly. Well, that was good.

"Does the current look bad?" she asked.

"No. But I regret not just taking us across the damn Trident."

Why?" Sansa asked.

"Because, idiot," Arya's voice cut. Sansa was so shocked she didn't even realize she should be angry for the small insult. "The Trident is all the forks in one. We could have been going up the Green Fork by now…"

Sandor only nodded.

"So we've wasted time?" Sansa's voice was raised, with a hint of panic. "Is Robb still going to the Twins?"

"Aye, child. Don't twist your small clothes."

Sansa only narrowed her eyes at him. She didn't like him calling her a child. It just made him seem unobtainable, even if they'd kissed. Maybe he was regretting it? No…she didn't have time to think about that right now.

"How long do we have before we reach The Twins?" she asked, trying to think of anything but Sandor and her relationship.

"If we don't stop moving?" Sandor said shrugging. "Few weeks."

"How long does Robb have?"

"He's got an army, Little bird. He'll take longer."

"Sooner I see Robb the better," Arya grumbled.

Sansa smiled at her, completely elated that her sister was speaking again. Maybe she was coming around! Maybe they could talk about all this.

"I just want to be rid of you two."

The words drug Sansa's heart to the pit of her stomach. Her smile broke, and she averted her gaze. Be rid of them both? She felt Sandor give her a small squeeze before they continued on, going to a thinner section of the Blue Fork.

"It's too dark to see how deep it is," Sansa said. She craned her neck, looking at Sandor as he seemed to be in thought. She watched his brow furrow and how he chewed on the plump part of his lips. She hated to admit that he looked absolutely adorable.

"We'll have to go to a ferry," Sandor decided.

"I thought you wanted us to avoid people?" Arya spat, rolling her eyes.

"You first then girl. If you drown I'll know to take your sister to a bloody ferry."

Arya huffed, but she made no indication of movement, which was her silent willingness to go along with Sandor's plan.

"I think there's one not far from here. Don't know if they'll be wanting to go across at night though," Sandor said, moving Stranger along the river. Sansa watched Arya follow behind. She was glad, even if the harness was still attached to her mare. Arya had moved before the harness pulled, or maybe the horse moved to follow. Sansa didn't want to think too much on it.

They'd gone about two miles before they came across a ferry. The calmness of the river gave the crew a boost of confidence that they could take this man and his "lovely daughters" across. The captain of the ferry asked for three silver stags, of which Sansa knew Sandor didn't have, but he had agreed anyway.

The horses were led on and the men crowded around Sansa, making her quite uncomfortable. One even asked Sandor if she was promised yet. He simply growled at the man. Sansa was thankful for that.

Once they were to the other side, he had put both Sansa and Arya on horse and was making them leave first. He'd turned to the ferrymen, said something, threw what looked to be a few silvers and then walked off, swooping up onto Stranger behind Sansa. "We best run now before they figure what I gave them was fake…"

They ran, hearing the shouts fade off into the distance.

They had run throughout the night. Sansa was glad to have been with Sandor because she had continued nodding off, waking up, and then nodding off again. She was sure Arya was very exhausted, yet each time she looked to her sister, her brow was furrowed and her mouth a small thin line. If she was tired, she gave no indication other than she was just extremely angry. At daybreak, Sandor didn't stop. He kept the horses running until Stranger actually fought with him to slow down to a canter, then to a trot.

That's when the mare fell.

Arya had been crushed under her, screaming loudly as tears began streaming from her eyes. Sandor jumped from Stranger, shoving the mare from Arya's body and seeing her swollen ankle. "May be you broke it."

"May be you broke it _you_ flea bitten dog!" Arya shouted back, still tears in her eyes. "You killed my horse! This is your fault! Ow!" She went to smack him as he picked her up gently. Her hands flailed at his face, slapping and punching. Sandor took the beating. He put Arya on the back of Stranger, took the horse's reins, tied him up, and unsheathed a sword.

"What are you doing?" Sansa exclaimed.

"Got horse meat here, Little bird. Why waste it?"

"That's disgusting!" Arya spat, trying to bring her ankle atop Stranger's back. "Move your fat butt Sansa!" She shoved her sister off the horse. Sansa was sure she should have just let it go, but in a flash she had turned around and began shouting insults back at Arya, about how ugly she was and how stupid and worthless she'd always be. Arya pulled her hair, which made her pull the girl off the horse and down to the ground. They tumbled, scratching, pulling hair, and biting each other. Sansa heard the pained shrieks emit from her sister as her ankle brushed earth, but she didn't care, she just kept on screaming right back at Arya, pulling hair, smacking and biting when Arya tried to wrench free.

Sansa wasn't sure how long they'd been fighting before Sandor pulled them away from each other, earning a few bite marks and some scratches on his burnt arm. "Oi! The lot of you are acting like stubborn, stupid pups! You want to kill each other? She's got a fucking broken ankle and you're supposed to be a woman!" His tone was loud, but it wasn't entirely angry, but it held so much disappointment, Sansa wasn't sure of his opinion of her anymore.

Sansa felt ashamed. She averted her eyes, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"I hate you! I hate both of you! This would have never happened if you'd just listened to me!"

"Listen to you? Listen to you about what? All you ever do is scream about how much you hate me or our Septa! She died for us you know! Joff showed me her head on a spike!"

"Both of you! _FUCKING. SHUT. UP!_" Sandor screamed. His voice rumbled like violent thunder and lightening. Sansa recoiled, and even Arya seemed surprised from her spot on the ground, cradling her ankle with one hand and wiping blood from her face with the other..

"Seven hells I'm traveling with babies! You hate us, we get that! I'll be glad to fucking get rid of you too! But there's no reason for you to be so angry at your sister! You know how many times she mentioned you to me before at King's Landing? Or how many times she just simply thought of you, worried sick?" He then turned on Sansa. "I didn't expect I had to lecture _you_. Blood means shit to me, but you two and your whole bloody family has been through way too much shit to make matters worse. You want her to listen? You want her to accept you? Me? Then act your fucking age! She's allowed to have her own fucking opinions! That's why they're bloody opinions, girl! Fucking seven. Maybe I should bloody leave you both!" He stormed off over to the white mare, hacking at her belly and pulling out her intestines and skinning her for meat, cussing about Arya and Sansa still.

Sansa didn't know if she should cry, or fight back. She stood there like a porcelain statue, her eyes round and her mouth pouting and red. Her eyes locked with Arya's and they shared an apologetic grimace. She went over to Arya, gently looking her ankle over and tearing some of her dress to make a bandage. "I'm so sorry, Arya."

"I forgive you," Arya teased, smiling through the pain. They shared a small laugh, smoothing out each other's hair and looking over their wounds. "I'm sorry too."

After Sansa wrapped up Arya's ankle, she went over to Sandor, feeling her heart thump loudly in her throat. He was still cutting up the meat. "We could dry this. Start a fire and we'll smoke it to give it some flavor," he said, not looking at her.

"Sandor…"

"Too much bloody meat though. We're going to fucking waste most of this." He still didn't look at her.

"Are you really going to leave us?" Arya asked, still from her seated position on the earth.

Sandor looked up at her, closing his eyes and offering a small, tired smile. "And let you two skin each other alive? Piss on that."

Sansa smiled, feeling a bit relaxed. She was still mortified from her behavior. She wished she could turn back time. She felt so embarrassed from behaving that way in front of Sandor. She was supposed to be a lady yet she acted like a spoiled child.

"Hold that would you?" Sandor asked, pointing to the mare's leg.

Sansa pulled it up, wincing as the blade went in. The smell wasn't bad. It smelled more like iron than anything. The intestines had a bit of a stench, but that was normal, or so she'd been told. "Poor girl," Sansa said. This horse had been her escape from Acorn Hall. The mare had led her back to Sandor and now she was dead.

"She was old, Sansa. I ran her too hard." Sandor sounded almost apologetic as he gave the mare's face a last pat, leaving a bloody handprint.

"What are we going to do now?" Sansa asked. "We can't all three fit on Stranger."

"Ever the analytical, Little bird," he teased, flashing his crooked smile. "I guess I walk."

"That'll slow us down though," Arya chimed in.

"Oh, both of you are so smart!" Sandor said sarcastically. "I don't know how long your brother means to stay at the Twins, but I'm sure it's long enough for the wedding."

"Wedding?" Sansa asked.

"You didn't hear? That's why he's going to the Twins. Some of the boys were talking about it on the ferry. Lord Edmure is to wed a Frey. Robb married someone else and broke his oath to Lord Walder Frey."

"Robb wouldn't do that! Father taught us all better than that." Sansa's voice raised an octave in shock.

"Men don't always think with their heads, Little bird." Sandor pulled the hide back, and began cutting at the tender thighs of the mare.

"So there's to be a wedding and we'll miss it?" Sansa asked.

"Aye. We may miss your brother being there entirely."

"No we won't." Arya stated.

Both Sandor and Sana gave her quizzical looks. The girl smiled, pointing over their heads. "That's a docked ship. See the sails?" Just barely above the trees, past a bend in the river were blue sails, a single banner flew higher than the rest. Two towers, side by side joined by a portcullis in the middle. It was a Frey ship. "We just need to sneak on…"

Sandor stood up, cursing with a smile on his face. "Aye child, and how do you suppose we do that?"

"Well, Hound. It just so happens that I've got a plan." Arya flashed a very self assured smile, the pain in her ankle seemingly forgotten.

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Song: Dog Days Are Over by Florence and the Machine.


	13. Chapter 13

Small disclaimer, I'm not actually 100% sure on House Clegane's words (I actually think GRRM just hasn't told us yet ((Keep in mind I'm only on book 4)), but I saw topcultured wp-content/uploads/2011/08/House-Clegane. jpg (You're going to need to edit out the spaces) and went why not. So **for this story** those are the words. If it's not cannon, oh well.

Oh, and thank you to all who have continued reading this. It warms my heart. While I did start this with the intention of enjoying it for my own sake, I'm glad I've been able to share and entertain all of you. Each review, fave and alert makes me smile, and best of all, encourages me to write FAST! 3

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_"I don't want no future  
I don't need no past  
One bright moment  
Is all I ask"_

_Chapter Thirteen_

The plan seemed borderline mad to Sandor, but who was he to argue at this point? At least Arya had a plan! They'd lost the mare, Arya lost her ankle for a few weeks and Sansa wasn't exactly a daring female, thus Sandor had to take what he could get. This was better then them all fighting though.

Gods, when they attacked each other like wild wolves, Sandor really felt they were true animals, true to the name of House Stark. He wondered if Eddard Stark had ever been so violent and full of anger. That man always had seemed to be so stoic. And for Sansa to have reacted that way. Sandor would never have guessed she'd forget all her septa taught her, but even so; she was only human. He liked her spirit honestly.

They had taken Stranger, with Arya atop the horse further down the bend as they stuck to the trees and not the road. Arya was confident that the ship was being loaded for the wedding, or at least heading that way. Sandor only hoped she was right, otherwise this was serious time they could not afford to waste. Yet as they got closer, Arya was proven to be correct in her assumptions. They watched cargo being loaded, men shouting and wagons full of supplies being loaded up.

"We need to steal a wagon…" Arya said quietly as she leaned over to whisper into Sandor's ear. He nodded, grabbing at his sword and looking down the road for anyone misfortunate enough to come along; and there he was.

From what Sandor could see, the man was alone and his face was terribly afflicted with scars from a pox, fleshy and swollen like he'd been dead in the water. His mule was old, but seemingly capable for what it was asked, but Sandor had no time for a mule. He'd free the beast to the wolves and hook up Stranger. He was suddenly secretly thankful for the mare dying. Having to give her up would have been painful at this point. Even though she wasn't the best, or youngest, she had done them well. Sandor just hoped the meat they'd taken wouldn't rot before he was able to dry it. He'd put as much salt on it as he possibly could spare from their supplies, but the meat was still wet and sopping through one of Stranger's bags. He'd need to dry it on the boat or it was a lost cause.

"You two wait here," Sandor rasped as he pushed Sansa aside a bit roughly, and made his way through the trees and out to the man in the wagon. The mule had reared up, causing the chunky man to be distracted before he even had a moment to unsheathe his own, rusted, blunt sword. Sandor didn't even have to parry. He'd thrust his sword into the man's heart, giving it a twist and hoping the man died quickly. If there were to be any bloody screaming, Sandor and the girls would be finished this close to the ship. He pulled the man off the wagon and into the trees, hiding him under a bush, stripping the man of his traveling cloak and the few coppers in his pockets.

Sandor motioned for the girls to bring out Stranger and thus they did. He began taking the mule out of its harness when Sansa interjected, "What are you doing?"

"Feeding wolves."

"You can't!" she wailed. Sandor rolled his eyes. He put the harness back on the mule and tied Stranger up to the back of the bloody wagon.

"You're riding 'em then," he said thrusting a single finger into her chest, just above those swollen tits, full from just being a woman.

She rubbed at her chest, soothing the ache, but a smile was on her face. He couldn't help but smile back at her.

Arya coughed, sitting atop Stranger still. "A little help here? I've only got a broken ankle."

"Don't go assuming yet. It may only be sprained. We'll have the maester look it over at the Twins," Sandor said picking her up and putting her in the back with all the supplies. "Or we could always saw your leg off?"

"That's not funny, dog!" Arya exclaimed as she allowed Sandor to plop her down in the back of the covered wagon. "It stinks!" Arya protested.

"It's salted pork? This doesn't look like it's going to the wedding," Sandor said as he looked about the wares.

"We have to pretend. You've got the horsemeat right? Lay it out? Maybe we could pretend that was specially requested by Robb for Grey Wind?" Sansa offered.

"Smart bird," Sandor said through a crooked smile. "Hide my armor under you Arya, in case anyone goes a looking back there."

Arya nodded, scooting around and hiding the bag with the armor in it and using the Hound's helm as a prop for her back. She didn't look comfortable, but quite frankly, Sandor didn't care. Maybe he would if she kept being nice, maybe. Probably not.

Sandor fashioned the man's traveling cloak around his shoulders, pulling the hood up so his face was hidden. "Best go back there with your sister," he said to Sansa.

"But-"

"Oh no. Back there now if you want to see your bloody family," he barked, but it wasn't cruel, just stern. He was praying Arya was right that this was going to the wedding, and not to some Frey army or something. While salted pork was a common food source for him, he'd remembered how the queen and his king, Joffery would often feast on fresher meats or boar freshly slain and stuck with an apple. Salted pork was usually for those who wished to keep life in the meat for as long as possible. It was great for military camps and traveling though.

Sandor whipped the mule once, and the beast began moving, the girls in the covered wagon, and Stranger hitched to the back. The mule seemed to be too slow for Stranger, as he kept trying to go next to the wagon, but that only unsettled the wheels causing the wooden contraption to creak loudly and turn awkwardly. Sandor had to stop twice to tie Stranger up tighter and scold him, though he was never too mean to his horse. Sansa even teased that the horse seemed to be his "one true love." He rolled his eyes, grunted and went back to the mule.

When they arrived at the boat, their wares were inspected only for a short moment, but Stranger was looked at a bit too hard. "This a warhorse?" the man asked.

"No." Sandor glared at the man, but his glares went unknown as the sailor went to reach at Stranger's face. The horse snapped at him.

"Shit!" the sailor cried out, backing away. "That beat is mad! We can't let him on."

"He's my horse, and I need 'em to send my daughters back home after I make this delivery," Sandor lied.

The sailor stared at Stranger a bit longer. "Daughters?" he piped up.

"They're promised…" Sandor growled, feeling like he wanted to kill this man more than reason with him. Except that would draw attention, and that was the last thing they needed.

The sailor went around the wagon and looked at Sansa and Arya. That's when Sandor finally stood, showing his full height and muscle to the smaller sailor. "They're promised…" he growled again, only this time it was a sheer warning with a deadly promise if the sailor kept at this.

"Yes." The man recoiled, scratching at his black, greasy hair. "You're taking this to the camps correct? What's this?" He poked at the sodden bags of horsemeat.

"Special request from King Robb," Sansa blurted, sporting a proud smile. "It's for his wolf."

"He asked you for it?" The sailor's eyes never met hers, and Sandor was quite sure he knew where the man was looking. Sandor inserted himself between Sansa on the wagon and the sailor, his gray eyes a death threat once more.

"Got a problem with that, boy?" Sandor spat.

"N-no. Okay. Come aboard then." The sailor backed away, going to inspect some boxes Sandor was sure had already been checked before.

"Fucking-" Sandor was going to string a slew of curses together, but he felt a soft hand grasp at his own. He turned, seeing Sansa smiling at him.

"Thank you. I…didn't like how he looked at me."

"I'd have killed him…" Arya stated, shrugging.

"On that ankle? I'd bloody pay to see that," Sandor said, offering a small, crooked smile to both girls.

"I can be quick. Like a water dancer," Arya defended, crossing her arms.

Sandor rolled his eyes, not wanting to hurt that little one's pride, only for the sake of having this adventure go along smoothly. He went to the front of the wagon; pulling the mule to make the creature move, wagon still attached to him.

Once they got onto the boat, he motioned for Sansa to come stand by him and the mule. She crawled over the slimy bags of horsemeat and over crates of dry salted pork. "Bring those bags," Sandor said pointing to the horsemeat. "If we don't lie that out, it'll rot."

"…Ew…" She gingerly picked up the bags, scrunching up her face. Sandor allowed a loud laugh to escape his lips.

"Come on girl, it's only dead meat!" he said through a mocking smile. Sansa glared at him, and tossed the bagged meat at his chest. It made a moist thudding sound against his chest. He continued to laugh as he laid the meat out on the seat of the wagon. He didn't trust the sides of the boat.

"I want out too!" Arya shouted. "It smells in here!"

"Can't stand on your own feet girl. You stay."

"I won't stop screaming till you let me out!" she warned loudly.

Sandor knew if he didn't do something she'd keep wailing, and she was already drawing attention from some of the sailors. Grumbling, Sandor moved swiftly.

"Shut your fucking mouth. You want this plan to go astray?" He picked her up violently and put her atop Stranger. "There, you stay."

Arya nodded, pulling her bad ankle up atop Stranger's back and putting some pressure on it. Sandor watched her brow knit for a moment before returning to the horsemeat. He laid it all out and then turned to Sansa, seeing her own brow furrowed and chewing her lips.

"Best not do that, Little bird," he warned.

"Do what?" she asked.

"You chewing your lips like that. Makes them swollen and…" He wanted to say appealing, but he decided to just let the sentence hang in the air.

"I don't like these men. They're not Robb's."

"Robb's men wouldn't look at you any differently. You're just a pretty girl with teats to them."

"If they knew who I was though, they'd certainly not look at me like this."

"Aye. They'd just talk about how much they wanted to fuck you when you weren't around." That earned a playful nudge.

"They would not!" she protested through a smile.

"Oh yes they would. Can't tell you how many times I've heard the many different ways the soldiers back at King's Landing would fuck the queen."

Sansa laughed. Sandor wished she'd always laugh. She'd gone through such suffering as of late, and it was all his fault. He'd taken her away, he'd gotten lost from her, got himself kidnapped, and got her sick in the rain. Yet he didn't regret it one bit, for they had shared that kiss; a kiss he wanted more of.

"Did you ever want to…with the queen?" Sansa asked, a deep red hue appearing on her cheeks.

Sandor laughed. "I'd be mad if I didn't."

She playfully smacked his arm. "Crude!"

"Just honest. You asked." He playfully nudged her. She laughed again. Sandor noticed the men watching them. He saw their eyes and how they trailed all over Sansa's body. It disgusted him. He looked to Arya. She seemed to be braiding Stranger's mane. If the horse didn't seem to mind, Sandor guessed he didn't either. The girl needed something to do anyway, and if it kept her fucking mouth shut, he'd gladly give his own head for her to braid.

"Where're you from?" a slimy voice asked. Sandor's gaze went right to the green boy with the pimples and shit brown hair. He narrowed his eyes.

Sansa looked up at Sandor, her eyes pleading for him to rescue her. He was helpless to those eyes, with their own gravitational pull.

"Back off, boy," Sandor growled.

"Hey relax, I was just making conversation!" the boy defended.

Sandor took a step forward; most of his body was now blocking Sansa against the railing of the moving ship. "I said back off…boy."

"Gods, can't get a descent whore anywhere," the boy said grumbling off.

Sandor turned to Sansa, seeing her eyes round and her mouth forming that perfect "o" as she stood there in shock. He used his index finger to closer her mouth, gently running his thumb over her cheek. "Don't let it bother you. He was just a boy."

"They're all staring at me…Plotting ways to get you away I'm sure." Her eyes moved left and right, as if she was counting each and every sailor on board.

Sandor chuckled. "Oh I'm sure too, Little bird. But that won't happen. I'd gut them all before I'd let you out of my sight."

She grabbed his hand, lacing her fingers into it. "Sometimes your bloodlust works in my favor," she said through a smile, but it certainly wasn't comfortable on her face.

"I told you. If anyone tries to hurt you, I'll kill them." He gave her hand a small squeeze of reassurance. "I swore to you."

"I wish they all weren't staring."

"I told you-" Sandor started, a bit irritated at her thickness, but she didn't seem to notice he'd even begun talking.

"So I could kiss you."

He shut his mouth, swallowing hard. He recoiled his hands to fidget with his sword. He peaked at her from within the hood of the traveler's cloak, so she couldn't notice if he was staring or not. She had an accomplished smile on her face.

"Keep smiling like that and I'll start calling you Joffery," Sandor warned, his tone heavily laced with sarcasm, chortling a bit.

"That's not funny…" Sansa said. Her face became stern.

Sandor only laughed louder.

By nightfall, Sandor had successfully threatened several of the sailors and was asked by the captain for his sword, which he begrudgingly gave over, swearing if he didn't get it back, he wouldn't need it to kill the captain anyway. The man only nodded and still asked for it to be handed over.

He'd put both girls back into the wagon, telling them if they came out he'd scold them like the father he was pretending to be, and that Arya wasn't too old to be turned over a knee and spanked.

Irritated beyond comfort, usually Sandor would take a nice walk to blow some steam, but his walk was quite shortened by the sailors, the wagons with their men and the rails of the ship. He looked down at the dark water, seeing the large oars that pulled the ship upstream. All the rain they'd gotten came in handy then, as this ship would never have been able to make it up without a lot of trouble, even if the river was usually quite deep. He tugged at his hood, making sure no one could see the scars and bone of his face. For a moment, he blinked and saw _her_ face, with nothing but adoration and appreciation for him. How could this have happened? She was Sansa Stark; a beauty and highborn. He was born to a family with credit owed completely to Lannisters. Even his House's words were "Sworn to Lannister!" His fingers tightened against the railing, he could feel the rough wood as it scraped against his equally rough hands.

She'd come to care, and he certainly wasn't going to fight her on this. He just hoped when they went to the Twins that Sansa didn't just jump into Robb's arms and the gaze of her mother and forget all he'd done and all they' gone through together.

He was so lost in thought he hadn't noticed the person come up next to him, but he felt the gentle nuzzle of a forehead pressed to his arm. Even with only the moon's light, he could see Sansa's auburn hair. It glowed like a gentle fire in the night. "I told you-"

"I know, but I don't feel safe in there without you. I heard from one of the sailors that one of the other farmers got his daughter taken below deck…"

"I'll kill them. They bloody know it." Sandor's voice was tight. If they even tried… Anger surged into his veins, exploding as it hit his heart. He grabbed Sansa's shoulders and turned her to him. Her eyes couldn't figure out where his were under the hood, but he didn't hold that against her. "I'd destroy the world with fire if it meant keeping you safe."

She gasped, bringing a gentle, small hand to cover her lips momentarily. "You hate fire…"

"I hate losing you more," he admitted, suddenly feeling very awkward. He withdrew from her before she could think of doing anything utterly adorable, or worse, something here in front of these sailors that he desperately wanted more than anything. They had only kissed once, but that kiss was like an explosion that created something out of the chaos. He had felt lust, but the feeling he'd felt then was something almost otherworldly. He'd felt like he'd become one with her. His gaze traveled to the wagon. _'And you had to bloody pull a fucking stunt like runnin' away and ruining it…'_

"I'm glad," Sansa said quietly. At first Sandor hadn't thought she'd said anything. He turned to her, jerking his head at the wagon.

"Get inside before a sailor drags _you _below."

She did as she was told, but Sandor went to follow. The wagon wasn't big enough for all three of them comfortably with all the meat in their crates, but they squeezed in. Sansa found that sleeping on Sandor was clearly the only solution. It was a solution Sandor could have done without. Her body so close to his only made his mind wander to places it needn't go. He wanted her, alone and naked with so much need in her eyes that it would bring any other man to fear. He wanted her to _need_ him. Yet when he finally got his sexual fantasies under control, he only started to think on his fears. They would arrive at the Twins soon, and at the Twins would be Robb Stark, King of the North and Lady Catelyn. Sandor Clegane was sworn to Joffrey and part of the Kingsguard, granted he'd thrown that away, but would Robb trust him? Would Sansa's pleas sway her brother?

Sandor knew better. Women were pawns to extend the power of men. While Sandor felt Sansa was anything but a pawn, he knew better than to hope. Robb would take her away from him, and there would be nothing he could do about it. So, he pulled her tighter into his arms, closed his eyes, and wished all of this were just a dream. If he woke from a dream, he wouldn't have to feel the ache when his heart split in two.

* * *

Song: Leave My Body by Florence and the Machine


	14. Chapter 14

This is where you take all you know about the cannon storyline, and throw it out the window. I also noticed a serious nose dive with views/ faves/ reviews/ anything. Did I take a turn you all don't like? I know there's not much romance going on, but this story has a few arcs within it, and right now, we're almost to the end of the arc it's on. I do thank those who reviewed and continue with me through this journey. It's not over yet though...

* * *

_"And time goes quicker_  
_ Between the two of us_  
_ Oh, my love, don't forsake me" _

_Chapter Fourteen_

Sansa was glad to finally be off the boat. The way the men had _looked_ at her. It made her skin crawl. She was glad Sandor was always at her side, growling or insulting any man who got too close. She'd have probably found it amusing if she weren't so scared of getting raped. She had yet to have her first time, and she was already determined to find a way to share that moment with Sandor; she just hadn't told him, or even suggested it to him yet… How did one go about asking that kind of thing anyway? Sansa bunched her lips to the side in thought. Would she have to ask? Or was that the kind of thing that just…happened? They'd have to be married though! That had to be talked about right? Wait! Her eyes rounded. Did she want to marry Sandor? She stopped moving suddenly, earning a crate to the back and an angry Sandor.

"Keep moving, girl!" he barked as he moved around her with the mule and crate of now dried horsemeat. He was insistent on keeping that separate from the rest of the salted pork, especially because it was actually theirs.

'_I want to marry him? Do I…want to marry him?'_ She watched him with the mule, giving the creature a soft pat on the head, going over to Arya and picking her off Stranger. Of course, her sister kicked and protested, but Sandor plopped her down on the seat in the wagon, which earned a beaming smile from her younger sister. Sandor had his moments. He had been rather sweet to Arya. Sansa felt it was because her sister had gotten them this far. It was more shocking that Arya had been nicer to _him_.

'_So I'd be okay with marrying him?'_ Her heart sputtered within her ribcage like a wagon with a broken wheel in the mud. She felt like she wasn't breathing. She hadn't really ever thought this would even come up. She honestly didn't think she'd ever feel anything for Sandor other than a bit of fear and pity. She'd never found him so beautiful before when Joffrey had been around; until that lion showed its claws…

Sandor had become beautiful, but it wasn't really his face. His body was breathtaking for sure; all hard and carved like stone, but that wasn't what Sansa had been drawn to. His _depth_ was what drew her to him, like a bug to flame. He seemed angry and bitter, but just below, he was tender, shy and sweet. Further than that, he was compassionate, careful and brave. She'd fallen in love with the perfect knight, who wasn't even a knight at all.

'_I really do love him…'_ But would Sansa be okay with marrying him? Worse yet, would Sandor be okay with marrying her?

"Sansa!" Sandor barked, jerking his head toward the giant stronghold that was one side of The Twins. "I swear if you don't get moving girl…" He left the threat dangling in the air.

Of course he'd never hurt her, she was sure of that, but his annoyance was enough to make her run toward the wagon, Arya and him. His eyes melted though when she came closer, and there was the man she loved. "Get in the wagon," he ordered.

Sansa nodded, hopping into the back with all the pork. She felt her eyes water with the amount of salt that fumigated the covered wagon. She felt her skin drying out it was so heavy!

The wagon moved, and Sansa peaked out the opening, looking at all the soldiers. Where was Robb's army? She became frantic. Where were the gray banners with the direwolf on them? Where was any sign of a Stark soldier? Arya must have asked the same question, for Sansa heard Sandor answer, "He's not here yet, child. Told you he's got an army at his feet."

That settled Sansa. She watched everyone moving about, some laughing, and some fighting among themselves. Sometimes, there was both laughing and fighting. Sansa sported a bewildered look across her face. How could fighting one's own team be amusing? She sat back, growing tired of the men and stared up at the wagon's canopy. She couldn't wait to be rid of this wagon.

They stopped to unload, putting the pork with a lot of other meats. Sansa looked about again. She felt just as uncomfortable here as she did on the boat. "When will Robb get here?" she asked Sandor.

He put down the last of the crates, looking up at the sky. "Gunna rain," he observed.

"When will my _brother_ get here?" she asked again, this time putting a bite in her words.

"Listen to the men, Little bird. That's where I get all my information." He walked back over to the wagon, untying Stranger. "I'm going to find him some fresh hay and water. You two don't wander too far, and keep your wits about you? These men don't know who you are, and I'm damn sure you look like a good time."

Sansa wanted to ask what a "good time" was, but she was pretty sure she had figured it out on her own. She looked to her sister atop the wagon. "Shall we?" she asked.

"I could ride the mule?" Arya suggested, shrugging. Sansa unhooked the mule, helping her sister, albeit clumsily atop the creature. She pulled at the rope reins and they were off into the camps. The men were loud, and there seemed to be no short supply of alcohol. Sansa was sure Sandor would be quite grateful for that. She felt he deserved it after all this.

"I hope Robb gets here soon," Arya said looking about the camp. Her eyes held uncertainty, which made Sansa feel even more uncomfortable. Her sister was always supposed to be brave.

"Me too," she answered. They walked their mule up to a water troth, and let the animal drink its fill. It was there they learned their brother would be there within a few days, and that the wedding was to be split in two, with both sides of The Twins celebrating. They were unfortunately on the wrong side…

Arya huffed as they turned from the troth, still sour from the news. "I knew it'd be too easy." She huffed again.

Sansa shrugged, leading the mule back to the wagon. "It'll be okay. We'll just have to get to the other side. Shouldn't be too hard. We could take the wagon, and Sandor could say we needed to go that way to get back home, or make a new delivery. We've got the horsemeat."

"Well we should go soon then. I hate this place," Arya said. "It smells."

"The wagon smells too," Sansa reminded.

"This place smells worse. Like dung."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "We'll do whatever Sandor thinks is best."

"He almost made us _miss_ Robb! I think he's trying to keep you away from him."

Sansa stopped the mule. "Oh? And why's that?" she asked.

"Because he wants you. Robb won't let you stay with him. He's not even a knight. Are you with him? Honestly?"

Sansa blushed, thinking back on her thoughts of marriage and that _other_ thing. "I…well… I don't know. We only kissed once."

"You do realize his face looks like a rotten squash?" Arya shot.

"Arya!" Sansa exclaimed. "Don't say such things! Besides, that's only one side. His other side is very handsome."

"You didn't think he was handsome back in King's Landing."

Sansa began moving the mule again. "I didn't think a lot of things back in King's Landing."

"Like what?" Arya asked, lying down on the mule, her back to the sky. She let a hand fall to the mule's side, swaying as the beast moved.

"Men and their cruelty for one. How much men pay attention to our bodies-"

"Your body. They think I'm a boy."

Sansa giggled. "Probably because you look too much like Father."

They smiled at each other for a moment, but in that statement, there was also sadness. Arya averted her eyes to the grass first, then Sansa looked ahead to the wagon.

"You think he'd approve of Sandor?" Arya asked.

"I don't know. He encouraged you in your silly fantasies."

"Mine aren't silly. You're the one with silly fantasies. Do you really love him?"

"Yes, I really do love him," Sansa said, her voice softer now, like the words were fragile and could break at any moment.

"Then you'll have to convince Robb to let you two stay together," Arya stated, as if it were a simple task. Sansa wished it were.

"You did some growing up while you were away," Sansa said, changing the subject. "I can actually tolerate you."

"Ha. Ha. Funny, sister." They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Sandor was back at the wagon when they returned. He didn't look too pleased from his expression either. "What's wrong?" Sansa asked.

"We're on the wrong side, and no one's allowed to cross," he stated.

"Not allowed to cross?" Arya asked from atop the mule. She sat up, leaning forward a bit. "But why?"

"Dunno. Strange though. The men on the other side are sworn Frey, these here are sellswords, some lesser bannermen and even lesser soldiers."

"In other words, they're as untrustworthy as Lannister men?" Sansa asked, hoping the answer was one that she didn't already know.

"Aye, Little bird. Something's up. Lord Frey supported Robb, but he's also a proud man. Your brother probably insulted most of that pride."

"Do you think he means to give these men to Robb?" Sansa asked.

Sandor laughed. "Not on your life, girl."

"Then why are they here?"

"To cause a bit of trouble, I'll wager," Sandor said, lowering his voice, and pulling Arya down from the mule's back.

* * *

They had tried, unsuccessfully several times to get across The Twins, even in the pouring rain that began a day after they arrived. Sansa wanted to blurt out who she was, but Sandor had warned that there was too much "strange" about for that just yet. He wouldn't allow her to utter her name to anyone until Robb was in eyesight. They had sat around their wagon, helped set up all the tents and festivities for this side of The Twins, and kept their heads low, and Sandor's even lower. At least there were plenty of whores around so none of the men troubled Sansa, though she did get a few looks that always had her seeking out Sandor.

Ever since they'd gotten here, he'd been a bit more reserved. They touched less, and their conversations always had to include Arya. Sansa wanted to scream. She had questions to ask of him, but she didn't feel comfortable asking in front of her sister. She honestly just wanted to kiss him too! But the whole "pretend I'm your father" thing would make a few brows rise if the soldiers saw the two of them snogging. Despite Sansa's assumptions, Sandor didn't drink at all, unless it was water. He was always observing and guarded here.

She sighed, leaning against the wagon. Arya had lied down for a nap. If Sansa was going to ask her questions, she'd have to ask them soon, but Sandor wasn't around at the moment. It was then when she heard the drums. She looked to the other side of the Twins, seeing a mass of movement, and best of all, gray banners, with a direwolf racing across a field of white. She stood up, a smile on her face, and a flutter in her heart.

"Arya!" she shouted. "Arya wake up!" She felt breathless. Sandor came jogging over, looking to the mass of movement as well.

"Well fuck, the Young Wolf's finally here. Only a few days bloody late too. Bet the Lord of the Crossing loved that…" Sandor's voice was practically overflowing with sarcasm.

Sansa couldn't help but laugh. She spun around, laughing. Finally! Her family! Her Winterfell! Her blood! "Arya! Wake up!" she shouted again.

The girl came out of the wagon, rubbing at her eyes. "What?" she spat.

"Robb!" Sansa pointed over at the banners, flapping in the wind as if they were waving at the girls.

Arya let out a howl in delight.

"We have to get over there!" Sansa said, grabbing at Sandor's hands and pulling them to her heart.

"I know," he said softly, looking at the host, and not Sansa's eyes. She didn't like that.

"Sandor," she said. When he didn't look to her, she shook his hands, still in hers. "Look at _me._" His gaze came to her, heavy and guarded. "This doesn't change anything. I still feel for you." He gave her a small smile, but it was too crooked and it never reached his eyes. She kissed his fingers, taking the time to make sure she kissed each and every one. "I mean it."

"I give you back, I'll lose you," he finally admitted. "Your brother'll take you away."

"Not without a fight." A coy smile came to her face. "And you took me away in a bag once. I'm sure you could do it again…"

Sandor laughed, kissing her on the forehead. "Aye. Maybe we could even find you a nice box this time."

Sansa playfully slapped him on the chest, before wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his chest. This felt right. This was where she belonged. She didn't need a large castle, with servants and lemon cakes. She wanted Sandor Clegane. If they had to lead a simple life, so be it. Sansa would be happy all the same; as long as she had her knight…who wasn't a knight at all.

"Would you two quit it? I'm going to vomit!" Arya wailed over-dramatically.

"Consider this payback, she-wolf," Sandor said through a crooked smile. He gave Sansa another kiss on the forehead, but broke away from her. Why never her lips? Was he still uncomfortable with kissing her? Or was it the soldiers around or even Arya? It had to be that. Sandor was just making sure no one was going to think twice about them, but even then, it still made Sansa worry. She just wanted to be with him, and him alone.

"So…there's this "wrong side" and we happen to be on it…" Arya reminded.

Sandor moved toward her, pushing her out of the way a bit. "Hey! Excuse me!" she shouted, but he paid no mind. He pulled out his helm.

"I think it's time we stopped pretending." Sansa watched his eyes lock with Arya's and then to her own. She smiled, her heart racing to the point of almost giving out. She was finally Sansa Stark again, not just to them, but to everyone. She watched Sandor move into the wagon, seeing it sway with his weight.

"What are you doing?" Arya asked. She got her answer in the form of a flying jerkin to the face. "Ow!"

When Sandor came back out, he was in his armor, with his dog's helm tucked under an arm. "Sansa, you get on the mule. Arya rides with me."

"What?" Sansa exclaimed, almost sounding hurt.

"You wanted him. Told you I'd make you ride him."

Sansa took a moment to glare at him, but there was no true malice in her eyes. She struggled to climb onto the mule, earning a laugh from both Arya and Sandor.

"You look like an idiot," Arya said giggling.

"Oh shut up," Sansa said, finally being pushed up by Sandor. He swung his legs around Stranger, wrapping an arm around Arya.

"Neither of you talk, understood?" Sandor asked. They both nodded. "Let's cross this bloody bitch then."

They ran from the camp, leaving the wagon and the horsemeat, but if Sandor didn't seem to mind, Sansa didn't either. She wouldn't have wanted to eat it anyway. They darted to the trees first. Sandor had doubled back to make sure no one saw them, or was following. When he came back, they continued out of the trees, like they were never the ones in the camps, and out to the first tower. Sandor wore his helm. Sansa was sure everyone in Westeros knew who The Hound was. She was also sure they knew he wasn't supposed to be on Robb's side either.

They were greeted by a group of Frey men, all with swords and cautious gazes. "Halt! The Lord of the Crossing has no time for trouble. 'Tis a wedding we are to celebrate," a man in his own helm said, moving his horse forward.

"Aye," Sandor rumbled. "I come with a gift, for the Young Wolf."

The man took a moment, most likely to evaluate what Sandor was saying. "And that gift is?"

"You fucking blind? I've come to give Sansa Stark and Arya Stark back to him, by orders from King's Landing, as a temporary offering of peace."

"You left King's Landing. We all heard," another man on horseback piped up. "What makes you think we'll believe these are really the girls?"

Sandor laughed. "Oh you heard? Did you see me bloody leave? I saw me cleaving a man in two. I could take each one of you bleating fuckers. I bring the Young Wolf, Sansa and Arya Stark. Let his eyes see them, if you want the truth. Be quick about it too!"

The man who'd spoken first recoiled a bit. "Aye, this way then."

"We're not supposed to let anyone cross though!" a third said. "We were ordered-"

"I know the orders! This changes things!" the man barked back quickly. Sansa had a bad feeling about this. The way the men moved, it was rigid, like there was more going on here than a simple wedding. If Sandor noticed it too, she had no idea from where she sat atop the mule. Yet they were ushered to the other side of The Twins.

Her heart raced, faster and faster as she got closer. She could see Arya growing impatient as well. She was finally being reunited with her family. She wondered if she'd cry when she saw Robb and her mother. Would Robb smile? Or did being a king change him? The late King Robert smiled frequently, but not to his family. Would Robb be like that?

They were finally across, and the portcullis was being opened. Sansa looked about, seeing people give quizzical looks, and looks of fear as well as their gazes found Sandor. Seeing those reactions gave her a sense of security. Sandor was just a man, but his reputation was a shield of its own for Sansa, and she wore it well.

She watched as the first knight dismounted, going up to another in armor, but he had no helm and whispered to him. He looked at the girls, then to Sandor.

"Clegane. I heard the Brotherhood caught you," he said.

"Seems that was a lie," Sandor retorted. "Where's the bloody King?"

"So he's your king now?" another asked.

"That's none of your fucking concern," Sandor rasped.

"We should take him prisoner!" the nervous knight shouted.

"No!" Sansa interjected. The area fell silent. "Where's my brother? I owe my life to Clegane. He's no enemy to any of you."

"Dismount and follow me," the knight without the helm said.

"Lady Arya's got a swollen ankle. She'll be staying atop my horse," Sandor said dismounting, removing his helm.

The other knight simply nodded. "But she'll have to go inside eventually…"

"I'll carry her then," Sandor growled.

The knight smiled, yet it was full of suspicion and malice. They followed the knight until he came to a tower, getting a stable boy and asking him to take the horses to the stable. Stranger put up a fight, but Sandor had calmed him enough for the frightened boy to take him. "I don't like this," Sandor whispered to Sansa as they entered the tower.

"Just wait till we see Robb. We can get Stranger back then." So he'd noticed the chill in the air as well. She'd also noted the confusion. The knights seemed disorganized.

They climbed the stairs, Arya in Sandor's arms, until they came to the second floor and made their way to a great hall. The knight turned around and said, "Wait here." His tone was like ice.

"I wonder if Robb feels the same way we do, or if it's just because they don't trust you," Sansa said, trying to reason with herself.

"Dunno, Little bird." Sandor placed Arya down, but let her lean against him so she didn't have to put weight on her bad ankle.

"We'll ask Robb when we see him," Arya stated. "But I don't like how the knight looked at us."

"I didn't like that either," Sandor said.

The double wooden doors opened slowly, two Frey men opened them, but it wasn't them whom Sansa had run to. She'd seen his hair first. Tully red, like her own. She'd run to him so fast, she didn't even notice the other men who'd come in as well, armed and waiting. She found welcoming arms and laughter, and eyes so similar to her own. Robb was smiling as he embraced his sister, spinning her around. He hadn't changed. King or not, he was still Robb. Tears spilled from her eyes yet there was no sadness. She was elated.

Too soon did her brother pull away, his eyes going dark and serious. "Clegane," he said, his voice tight.

Sandor went down on one knee, holding his arm out so Arya could still balance. "Your Grace," he said.

Sansa watched the exchange, praying that Robb would accept them, when that conversation came to pass. "I see you brought me my sisters, a gift from King's Landing was it?"

"No. I left, just like the stories say. But I fled not with fear for myself, but fear for her's." He nodded at Sansa. She felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Sansa! Arya!" a female voice called. It had been so long, Sansa hadn't recognized it at first.

"Mother!" she cried out. Arya even jumped on one leg to her mother's arms. The three of them broke down again, crying as they held each other.

"My girls! Oh my girls! They told me you were dead!" She kissed Arya on both sides of her face. "And you! You were their hostage! They never said you escaped! Oh my girls! I thought I'd lost you!" Sansa had never received so many kisses from her mother. She felt her heart soar. She was finally safe again, and finally where she belonged.

"Mother!" Robb called out, his tone annoyed. "Leave us, all of you."

"No!" Sansa called out. "I don't want him harmed! He saved me! He even found and saved Arya! You can't punish him, he's not a traitor or against you!" She'd broken away from her mother's embrace, standing in panic.

Robb's gaze flickered back to Sandor. "Then quiet, and you talk."

Sansa had no doubt that Robb was a fit king. His voice was demanding, precise and his tone was to be feared.

"I fled King's Landing with the Lady Sansa Stark, taking her out of harms way, and out from the Lannister's claws. We were making our way to Riverrun when the Brotherhood Without Banners found and captured me. It was there I found the Lady Arya. I escaped with my life, trial by combat and won. They robbed me blind, but I'd left with Arya."

"Well, he kidnapped me…" Arya began, but Sansa put her hand over her mouth.

"She didn't know he was on your side, Robb," Sansa said, trying to smooth that detail out.

Robb nodded at her. "Keep going," he said to Sandor.

"Sansa left a trail for me to follow and we found her not more than three days after. We'd heard you'd left Riverrun and were heading here."

"Did you only just arrive?" Robb asked.

"We snuck onto a Frey ship!" Arya blurted.

"Arya!" Lady Catelyn shouted in disbelief.

"We were safe! It was my idea too!" Arya kept going.

"Arya!" Sansa shouted, putting her hand over her sister's mouth again. "Shush!"

"That true?" the Frey knight asked, the one who had brought them to this side of The Twins.

"Aye," Sandor growled. "We waited for several days before your arrival."

It had all sounded so simple. They had been traveling for a month, going in circles, getting kidnapped, getting sick, losing each other, running away, and...

_'Falling in love.'_ When Sandor retold the story, it all sounded so easy. But it had been anything but that!

Robb looked to Greatjon Umber, who seemed rather bewildered by the whole situation. "You've returned my sisters to me, and for that I'll grant you freedom to go without being troubled. I'll wager you'd want some payment as well."

"No!" Sansa blurted. Everyone turned their attention to her. She suddenly felt naked. "I mean…"

"I could lend you my sword," Sandor said.

"I need no lending," Robb said, growing disinterested in the situation.

"I'd swear it…" Sandor said louder.

Sansa smiled at him. He wasn't doing this for his own sake. He was doing this for her. She felt like she could simply sprout wings and fly away.

Robb looked to the Frey knight, Greatjon and their mother. "Leave us. All except Arya and Sansa." The room grew loud with muttering before the voices were shut behind the large oak doors.

"I was told you left the Blackwater, drunken and wild with fear," Robb said, taking a step toward Sandor.

Sandor stood up, scoffing. "Piss on that. I went to find your bloody sister."

"Don't talk like that in front of my sisters," Robb snapped.

"They don't bloody care," Sandor retorted.

"He wants to fight for you, Robb! Let him!" Sansa shouted. She was so tired of the mistrust, the games and the backstabbing. This here was honest! Why couldn't Robb see that.

"Where are your men?" Sandor asked.

Robb seemed to take that by surprise. "The bulk of my host is within the camps."

"This side only?"

"Yes, why?" Robb asked.

"The knights who brought us here weren't supposed to. I gave them no choice, making such a bloody scene about it. Does Lord Frey know we're here?"

"I'm sure he's been informed-"

"Have you eaten at his table yet?" Sandor interrupted.

"No, but-"

"Where's your direwolf?" Sandor interrupted again.

"He wasn't allowed in. They escorted him to the kennels."

"Oh did they?"

"What are you getting at, Clegane?" Robb shouted.

"You that dense?"

"Excuse me!" Robb went red in the face.

"He thinks something's wrong," Sansa said, trying to divert the explosion that was about to happen between these two. How she was going to tell Robb about her love for Sandor was beyond her at the moment.

"It's a wedding. My uncle to a Frey. They wouldn't dare try something."

"I'd like your permission to take both Lady Sansa and Lady Arya away from here, and then to be by your side during the wedding."

"What? No!" Robb exclaimed, his eyes rounding in shock and confusion. "This is a wedding!"

"Then I'll just take the girls." Sandor began moving toward Sansa and Arya.

"They're my sisters and no you will not, Clegane!" Robb shouted. The doors opened, and there stood Umber, Edmure Tully, and Roose Bolton, along with a few other men with swords.

Sandor scoffed. "Then I'll bloody go." He charged past Robb.

"Let him pass!" Robb shouted.

"Sandor!" Sansa shouted, but he didn't turn around, or even pause. "Sandor Clegane!"

"Let him go, Sansa," Robb said placing his hands on her shoulders from behind. "You need not concern yourself with the likes of him anymore. You're safe now."

'_No Robb, we're not safe. We just don't know who the enemy is yet.'_

* * *

__I think I covered all my plot holes If not, shh. Sandor's just analytical! That's how he knows somethings up! (if my writing failed to foreshadow stuff)

Song: What the Water Gave me, by Florence and the Machine


	15. Chapter 15

Gosh, these last two chapters I've done (the one before this and this one) are super long! I usually stop at 6 pages a chapter, but the last was 11 and this one is 10.

Thank you so very much, those who review, fave, and alert. It warms my heart and makes me happy that I've been sharing this with you all. At first, this was a personal project but I decided to put it up, now you're the reason I keep dedicated and going (otherwise I'd be super slow and risk never finishing T_T ) You guys are brilliant.

Small warning: Lot's of violence and gore in this chapter, and some strong language.

* * *

_Gravedigger_  
_ When you dig my grave_  
_ Could you make it shallow_  
_ So that I can feel the rain_

_Chapter 15_

Sandor growled as he clutched Stranger's reins. He'd sold the mule to another farmer for three silver stags. He was sure he gave the man too sweet of a deal, but he had no time to ask who'd buy at the highest price for the mule. He just wanted it gone. It was only a constant reminder of Sansa. _'You brought her here. It's your fault, Dog.'_ Yet the pain in his heart felt more like betrayal than a choice she didn't have. _'She called out to you… You turned away from her. It's not her fault…'_ He tried to reason with himself, but he always ended up angry with her.

He stared at the castle walls, watching servants, men in arms, and performers go about. The wedding would begin soon. He hadn't been escorted out, nor had anyone said anything about him having to leave, so he lingered along the walls, growling at anyone who dared look at him. _'And it's not your bloody concern now either. She's safe with her idiot brother…'_ Yet that lie was too hard to swallow. Everything was suspicious, and that's exactly why he hadn't left. He looked around, seeing a few scattered trees, the tree line of the forest, and the castle. He needed Stranger in case anything unfortunate did come about, but where was safe to put him? The tree line was far, and if he had to run, he'd surely be struck down. His plated armor was certainly not easy to run in. The trees that dotted the flatter grounds in front of the castle were easily accessible, and Stranger would kick anyone off, but that only allowed them to kill him in anger if they tried. That wasn't safe either. He growled, hating the decision he made.

The safest place was the most obvious. He'd tied Stranger up in the stables. He patted the horse on the head, resting his forehead against the large beast's for a moment, sighing. "We're staying here for her. I know you bloody like her," he teased his horse.

As if Stranger understood, he jerked his head up, knocking Sandor back. The large man only laughed. He gave the horse one last pat on the neck before about facing, and finding the stable hands.

"That horse," he said pointing to Stranger. "Is mine. I'd rather see him freed to the wolves than someone ride him. You turn him lose if anyone comes looking for horses in a panic." He began walking away after they had nodded. "Oh and, if someone takes my horse, or kills him, I'll bloody gut you and tie your intestines around your balls so tight you see them explode before you die. Maybe shove your own cocks in your mouths. You'd like that?"

They both shook their heads no. It seemed their voices had escaped them.

"Good." He left the stables, making his way back to the castle, sword at the hip, and a hand grasping the hilt, just in case. However, he wasn't invited to the wedding, and thus would have to be outside with the men stationed on this side of the river, which were Robb's men, and many others. Sandor kept his mouth shut, but his ears open. He listened to the servants as they began setting up the food, listened to the men, and worst of all, he listened to the howling of Robb's direwolf. Humans were stupid, but creatures like that were smart. Arya's wolf was smart enough to know Joffrey was an idiot, Grey Wind had to be smart too. Even that other Stark boy had a wolf that killed a man for trying to kill his master. Sandor didn't exactly like wolves, but he was fast falling for a wolf with auburn hair, and thus he'd swallow his pride for the moment, and take it on face value that Grey Wind knew something was wrong.

Sandor waited for the sun to fall behind the clouds, and nestle into the curves of the earth, like a lover's embrace. He had a bit of wine, some cheese and a lot of salted pork. When the sun went down, he began to find ways into the castle. His mouth twitched, twisting like a sly fox, more than a dog. He began stumbling over to the knights guarding the entrance to the castle.

"My good knights!" he said loudly, holding his wine cup high in the air, and swirling around for good measure. "I've gotta room in the cas'el. 'Spose you wouldn't mind tellin' me how to a…a find it?" He laid the slur on thick, and kept his words loud to soft to loud again, swaying the entire time. "Was around the kich'en or…yeah!" He shouted, lurching a bit at the knight on the right. He wanted to laugh as he saw those blue eyes go round in fear, but kept character, pretending to take a swig of wine.

"The kitchens ser? Follow me then. You're with Robb though aren't you?" the knight asked, looking to the other for confirmation.

"What of it? Brought his bloody sis'er back to him. Both o' them! An' the Lann'sters thought Arya was dead! Ha!" Quite frankly, Sandor just wanted to cut these men down and be done with it, but there were too many eyes, and while the men only grew louder as alcohol merged with their blood, a man always wanted to fight if a sword was drawn, no matter how drunk and right now, Sandor had to get in quietly.

"Well, ser," the knight said, drawing out the first word.

"I'm no bloody ser," Sandor said, losing the slur and looking the man dead in the eye with vile hatred.

"Yes, right. Robb's greater men are with him, feasting currently. I'd expect a man like you would have joined them? Returning the Ladies Sansa and Arya."

'_Why does he want me in the same room as Robb?'_ He was heading in that direction sure, but this felt…off. "Well, I chose to be out here with the men. I bloody hate weddings. But the Young Wolf did want me there," he lied, his eyes sharpening.

"Then follow me," the knight to the left said, his eyes cold as he appraised Sandor. They went into the castle, making their way to the feast. Sandor looked around, noticing how empty the corridors were. He was sure all were at the wedding.

"This castle is so bloody long!" he exclaimed loudly, pulling out his sword. The sound of cold metal was nullified by his voice, and thus when the knight went to turn around, his eyes held his fear, but his voice was too late. Sandor cut the men from crook of the neck down to the navel. Blood splattered out, pulsating in short bursts as it spewed with a spattering heartbeat. If this turned out to be a wrong assumption though, Sandor had just murdered a man at a wedding… He'd pretend he really cared later.

He at first was a bit lost, but the sounds from the wedding only grew louder, and louder. It was almost unbearable. _'Why are they playing these songs so bloody loud!'_ He moved quicker, when he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He turned quickly, putting his back against a column, listening to the hushed voices and the marching of feet. He watched them go, and his eyes narrowed when he saw crossbows on their backs. _'This is no blasted wedding…'_ He broke from his hiding spot, moving as fast as he could silently, reaching the main hall.

"But that's a grandson… and he never was much use." Sandor left nothing to chance when he heard those words, he burst open the door, seeing a man taking a plunge at Robb, noticing the arrows in his leg. Sandor moved, his large body blocking Robb's like an eclipse as metal met metal. The ring seemed to almost make the music silent for a moment.

"Clegane! They've got my sisters," Robb said through the pain. "The bedding… Sansa went." Sandor seemed to go feral as he growled, locking his gaze with Lord Walder Frey's.

"Get your men, and get the fuck out of here," Sandor growled to Robb over his shoulder, as he began backing into the boy, forcing him to move. Robb had just enough time to leave with Catelyn, and Ser Marq Piper, as Sandor covered them from arrows and swords.

Roose Bolton swung at Sandor again, but the Hound shoved his armored elbow at his face, breaking his nose. He laughed when he heard the yelp. Swords clashed as if in a dance around him, but he was focused. This was his element. It wasn't for that bastard Joffrey either. It was for Sansa. He'd _kill_ _everyone_ for Sansa.

An arrow went under his left arm, grazing the scale mail. The Hound moved, violently swinging his sword at Roose Bolton until the man parried. Sandor took out a dagger from under his chainmail on his wrist and sliced the man's throat.

He saw Catelyn pulling Robb out along with a few other men. Smalljon Umber had an arrow in the mouth, leaving him in a slumped pile. Greatjon Umber was wild and drunk, swinging his sword at any man that dared. Sandor growled, going to his aide. He slashed at the "musicians" watching blood pour from their bodies, yet when the men in mail came in, Sandor got his first taste of fear. He was cornered, as the others weren't much of a threat. Greatjon was taken, pulled against his will, but he went howling and screaming. _'They're keeping him hostage…but me…'_ He felt an arrow pierce into his back, but it didn't go far enough through his plated armor to reach his body, but he could just barely feel the point pressing in on his flesh. He broke the shaft so no man could push it, taking a swing at a man.

He groaned, seeing the men with crossbows point directly at him. Lord Walder Frey laughed…

* * *

Sansa had screamed until her throat went raw. She was taken by several men. It was all going fine until the bedding! There had been awkward moments, but it was all fine! She was with her mother again! They were finally united and now this! Why was this happening! She kicked at a knight's helm, earning a smack to the face, yet the sting did nothing but bring back hateful memories of her _beloved_ Prince Joffrey.

"Do that again, girl, and you'll wish you hadn't…" the knight warned.

"You lay another hand on me and The Hound will see you in two!" she spat back, spitting on him.

One of the Frey's raised their hand to smack her, but the knight held up his own hand, stopping him. "No…I've got a better idea for this one…"

"Sansa! Sansa!" someone screamed. Before the knight could reveal his plans, Sansa saw Arya held by a large knight, kicking and scratching at whatever she could. "They're going to kill Robb! They're going to kill him!" Her voice was a shrill, hysterical and wild. Sansa's own throat tightened, from the knight's eyes and Arya's voice.

"Sandor will save us! Stay calm, Arya!" she shouted before the knight slapped her.

"Your fucking dog won't save you. He fuck you yet? Shove his dick far up in that tight pussy of yours?"

Sansa had never heard such foul words, but a familiar warnings had come back, as if Sandor was standing right there telling her this was what happened to women. She felt her blood run cold. Her gaze went to Arya and the other knight. While she had three men on her, Arya was carried only by one and another following. Her heart sank as they had moved further away, and Arya was once again gone from her. She had to stay strong! She couldn't give them what they wanted.

"He would never do such a thing," she answered, her eyes glaring vile and revulsion at the knight.

He laughed. "Oh? Too scared? The _Hound's_ a pup then is he?"

Sansa jerked her arm away from the Frey and slapped the knight. "No! He's the most courageous man alive! Far better than you! Here you sit shouting japes at me when there are men fighting and killing. Are you afraid of a little blood?"

That angered him. The knight's face drained of color, and she saw him grinding his teeth, and watched as his neck muscles twitched. "You want some blood girl?" He pulled out a knife.

"My grandfather-"

"Shit on your grandfather. You wanna die too, Frey?"

'_He's a knight. This Frey's grandfather is his lord!'_ Sansa was astonished. How could men do this? Was Sandor truly right? Was there no honor in men? If so… That knife began to look much more frightening than it had before…

The Frey man shook his head, backing away. "I'm telling my grandfather!" He ran before the knight had a chance to react.

"Go after him!" the knight called to the soldier.

"Aye, ser!" The soldier took off charging down the corridor.

Sansa's bones chilled when the knight's gaze returned to her. His gaze was heavy, and ruthless. Sansa yearned for those soft, gray eyes again, and those scars. This man's face was comely, yet vile. Her skin crawled where he held her.

He pushed her down, straddling her and holding her arms above her head. He was so much stronger than she was. She shrieked and thrashed, but she couldn't shake him. "You do that, _Lady Stark_ and I may just rip your throat open!"

She felt tears stream down her face. Fear gripped at her heart, but the only face she could see was Sandor's. She wanted him now. She should have run after him. Why did she listen to Robb? Sandor was right! This was her fault. If she had just run after him, he'd have been there to protect her. _'My knight who isn't a knight at all…'_

"Now this will teach you to spit at knights…" His voice was like thousands of snakes crawling down Sansa's ears and throat. She felt full to the brim with fear and panic. Her breathing was erratic and it even hurt to blink away the tears.

The cold of the blade was by far worse than anything she'd felt in her life. It slid down her face, from her brow to her jawline, leaving warm blood in its wake. She had never screamed so loud, but she couldn't move or he could miss and hit something else… So she lay there on the cold stone floor, screaming and crying. As the blade went over the tops of her breasts, she began screaming for Sandor.

* * *

Sandor had managed to escape his potential killers. He'd pummeled his body through the men on the ground floor, using them as shields when arrows had begun flying. Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to kill Lord Frey like he had wished. If Lady Catelyn and Robb had gotten out successfully though, he was at a loss. He ran down corridors, thrusting his sword into any body he saw that wasn't Robb, Catelyn, or Sansa. If they were Stark or Frey men, he didn't ever know.

How could Lord Frey do this? Why would he do this? Was he such a pompous bastard that he'd stomp on guest right? Sandor wished he could have rammed his sword down that Lord's throat and open up his belly with the point.

The halls thinned out of Frey assassins and soldiers as Sandor continued throughout the castle. He opened every door as he combed through. He found a man with the twins across his chest, grabbing him by the throat and throwing him against a wall, holding him there. "You'll tell me where they're taking Sansa Stark…" he growled.

"T-they've got h-her in the," he gasped for air. "The holding tower! Please ser, let me go! Please don't kill me!"

Sandor shoved his knife into the man's eye, slicing it down hard against the bone. The man screamed, rapidly convulsing before coming still as blood poured down his face.

The Hound moved, his helm on and his sword out at the ready as he continued through the halls. He saw no Stark men, which worried him a bit. _'They should all be looking for Sansa. Do they even know what's happened?' _

He found the tower, taking on soldiers as he passed, earning a knick to the cheek, shoulder and a blade in his leg. He howled, falling to one knee as the knight laughed.

"So the Hound's come to the rescue aye?" he teased.

Sandor didn't answer, he growled through the pain, going to both legs and swinging his sword down on the man's head. His skull was thick, and the wound wasn't fatal, but blood streamed down his hair, dying it a deep red, making him panic. Sandor pushed him down the stairs, hearing the _crack_ as his spine finally bent a wrong way.

He opened the door, his eyes searching for signs of Sansa, or Arya. He found another guard. "Bloody fucking lovely," he rasped in sarcasm as the guard charged at him. With his leg weak, he was sloppy. His parries were slow and he came dangerously close to being overpowered by the fat guard, but he threw his dagger into the man's gut. It nestled in deep as the fat guard fell to his knees. Sandor only had to slice open his throat and retrieve his blade.

He climbed to the very top now, hearing a girl screaming, _shrieking_. The sound rattled Sandor's aching bones to the core, but his blood turned to ice, hardening him against the pain as he moved. He saw Sansa, her face bloody and her wrists dripping with blood as a man was above her. Arya was crawled in on herself in a corner.

The man turned, a wicked smile on his face. A few smeared fingerprints were on his cheek. _'Good Sansa. Don't go down without a fight.' _

"Sandor Clegane." The man said the name like he'd speak to a long lost sibling. It made Sangor only want to break in his face more. "She told me you'd come, but I didn't believe it. Yet here you are. My, what a good trained dog you are. Too bad King Joffrey didn't properly train you. Guess it takes a warm _cunt_ to do it right."

Sandor smirked, removing his helm and tossing it to the floor. It rattled loudly, shaking the wood. "I thought of letting you die fast…"

The Hound's eyes trailed to Sansa. Her face had a long gash from forehead to jaw, and it bled down her throat and into her beautiful, blue dress. Sandor thought she always looked flawless in blue. The rage he felt unleash inside him was colder than any winter Westeros had ever seen, and burned hotter than a thousand suns melting together. Acid flowed through his veins and the pain in his leg was gone. There was nothing left but blind, overpowering, _hatred_.

He lurched at the smaller knight, grabbing at whatever he could, but the man moved too fast. The knight swung his sword, slicing into the chainmail on his arm, yet Sandor felt no pain. He growled loudly, his sword in one hand, yet all he was doing with it was trying to find a way to knock this man off his feet. Sandor looked around the room for a moment, before parrying.

He backed away quickly, grabbing a chain and swinging it around his head before throwing it at the knight. It missed to his dismay.

"What's the matter little puppy? Too afraid to fight? Going to piddle?" the knight teased.

Sandor didn't respond. He pressed forward, taking an angry slash that was met with a parry and then a flourish. Sandor backed up, feeling the pain in his leg throb numbly through his rage. He rolled to the chain again, picking it up in his left hand, discarding his shield that was splattered with guts, blood and the tears of dying men. He whipped the chain and swung his sword, forcing the knight into the chain's desperate embrace. It swung around his throat tightly. Sandor pulled the knight down, straddling him and quickly cutting off the man's hands. While the knight screamed as Sandor was forcing off one hand, the other hand was pushing into Sandor's burns, clawing and pushing at his eye. He roared turning his head and biting down as hard as he could. The knight bellowed again.

Sandor forced the other hand down, feeling the bloody stump of the other smack again and again at his head, yet his eyes didn't break their gaze. He had the other hand off.

"Sandor!" He heard a female's voice, but he didn't turn.

"I'm going to kill you slowly," he rasped. He pulled on the chain that was around the knight's neck, tightening its grip so air was hard to find. The knight couldn't talk, he gasped for each breath, his face slowly turning red.

Sandor took his own small blade, and brought it from ear to ear, going around the brow line, chopping each ear off. The knight couldn't scream, but a strange, gurgling squeal came from his bluing lips.

"Sandor!" that voice yelled again.

He didn't listen. He pressed down on the man's eyes, pushing them into his sockets so far back they started to bleed. They had hurt Sansa, they had destroyed this night with their lies and filth, and they'd taken her away from him. He'd see them all pay. He stood. The knight couldn't move from all the pain, but tried his best to roll, blind and slowly dying from suffocation.

Sandor stepped on the chain, his body was shaking with anger as the vile poison continued to pulsate through his veins like a drug, searing his brain with images of Sansa in pain or afraid. _'I will murder you all.'_

"Sandor! Please stop!"

He still didn't listen as he took his sword, swinging it into the knight's belly and laughing as intestines spilled to the floor. The knight was on his knees, still gurgling and choking as blood from his eyes pooled into his mouth. He fell sideways then.

Sandor didn't know when he died, but he'd stabbed at that stomach again, and again, and again, and _again_. He pulled out the intestines, sliced open the man's stomach, and nearly puked when the stench found the room. It was a mix between shit and vomit. Sandor didn't stop. He hacked at the man's face, bashing it over and over again with the hilt of his sword.

"Sandor! Please! Stop this! _Please!"_

But Sandor didn't stop until the tears in his eyes clouded his vision entirely, before spilling over his cheeks. His shoulders shook as he cried. He covered his face with bloody hands, trying to hold back the sobs, but he was unsuccessful.

"…Sandor." That's when he finally heard her. Her voice was so soft, like a humming bird's wings, and birds chirping on a fresh, spring morning. Their gazes locked and his heart broke.

Tears mixed with the blood on her face as she choked back her own sobs. Her hands were still bound but she crawled over to him all the same, wincing as the rope cut into her raw wrists. _'This is your fault, dog. This is all your bloody fault.'_

She hesitated before him, looking at the body of which hardly looked human anymore. The fluids oozed from it slowly, swarming around Sandor, but she never let it come near her. She closed her eyes, as if she was centering herself, or trying to find the words her septa taught her to use.

"Where's my brother?" she asked, her voice shaking. That's when he saw it. Her eyes, which had become so warm, clouded with a storm of fear. She was afraid of him again. Part of him didn't blame her. She had never seen him fight, and he didn't just kill this man, he made him suffer.

Sandor stood up, his armor covered in fluids from the knees down. "I don't know."

Arya asked, her voice raw, "What about my mother? Where is she?"

"I last saw her, sending her out with Robb and some others." That seemed to calm the girl down, but Sansa sobbed loudly, bringing a hand to cover her mouth, the other one hanging limply by her chin awkwardly. Sandor moved with his knife, but he froze when he saw her flinch.

"I won't hurt you, Little bird," he said, but his voice rang hollow. She stared at him for a long while. To him, it felt like decades. He was aware of the smell, the pain in his leg and arm. He could see the flames licking at the sky from the small slits in the tower's windows. He was acutely aware of everything. _'Especially her fear…'_

"I want out of my bonds!" Arya protested. Sandor cut hers, his gaze finding Sansa's frightened face again. She nodded, swallowing hard as she held out her hands. Sandor gently cut the rope away, holding out a hand for her to take to stand, but she stood by herself.

He didn't know what to say, so he withdrew into himself. He walked to the stairs, hearing small feet moving behind him. He looked back, seeing Arya, but Sansa was still further away. "Come on, girl. Do you want to die by the likes of him?"

Sansa moved quickly, like she was trying to run from him, yet she never truly ever left his sight. Sandor escorted them out of the castle in silence, biting through the pain as he walked. Despite what had all happened, the castle was strangely quiet, save for a single drum, slowly beating. But when they got outside, the roars of clashing metal and howling men pierced their ears like a hawk's cry.

It was there, Sandor saw a knight he used to know. Ser Garse Goodbrook was on horse, cleaving at any man who got too close. "Stay back, Little bird," Sandor said. His voice rumbled like a waterfall crashing over rocks. Sansa did as she was told, grabbing Arya's hand.

Sandor took down Ser Goodbrook. He limped as he moved, but his thrust was clean and the sword broke the plated mail of the knight and he died quickly.

Sansa screamed.

Sandor turned to see Arya running and another man on horse going after her. Sandor picked up Ser Goodbrook's axe and threw it. The axe hit deep into the back of the man's head. "Arya, get bloody back here!" he shouted.

Arya ran, back. The three of them ran as fast as they could to the stables. Sandor found Stranger, kicking wildly in a stall with several wooden bars preventing him from escape.

"We can't all fit!" exclaimed Sansa as Sandor pulled the house out of the stall. She seemed to be calming down. Sandor was thankful for that. He looked at Stranger, and then back to the girls. Without any words, he lifted Arya up, groaning as his leg pulsated with pain. He turned back to look at Sansa.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No. You saved me."

Relief washed over him, like the ocean embracing him in a gentle hug. He took a step closer, lifting her up, and bringing her lips to his. The kiss tasted of sweat, tears and blood, but her mouth was hungry, and the thrills he felt from her desperation elated his soul. He placed her onto Stranger, smacking the horse's rear as hard as he could. "Run boy!"

"What! No!" Sansa yelled, but Stranger was already running from the stables at a gallop toward the trees.

Sandor did his best to hobble from the stable, watching as the tents burned, and men died. He slumped down, his sword in his hand, but if someone came to fight, he didn't know if he could take it. Stranger was at least running for the tree line, just like he'd been trained so long ago. Sansa and Arya were safe. Robb and Catelyn were nowhere to be found, but that was good to him, honestly. He sighed, looking down at his leg. He pushed at the wound, hissing in pain.

He hadn't noticed the several people on horseback heading his way until it was too late.

* * *

Song: Gravedigger by Dave Matthews

Cliffhanger? Wut? Gosh, I hope you guys are still with me after all that.


	16. Chapter 16

Yet again another chapter that actually is 2 chapters. (Don't get used to it!) Again, more thanks to the wonderful reviewers I have (I don't reply to most of them in fear of annoying you guys!). But each review, fave, alert warms my heart, no matter how silly, happy, angry, or sad the review is! No cliffhanger this time. I dislike always cliffhanging people. Makes them angry!

* * *

_"Don't confuse _  
_ Baby you're gonna lose _  
_ Your own game _  
_ Change me _  
_ Replace the envying _  
_ To forget your love"_

_Chapter 16-_

Stranger had taken off so fast, Sansa didn't even have the chance to try to leap from him. Her heart thumped heavily, beating at her eardrums like the cadence of war. _'Am I…on a true battlefield? Is that why he'd sent me away?'_ She tried to turn her head to glimpse him one last time, but her hair rushed violently in front of her eyes, covering them like hands of those who wished her not to see.

Their kiss had been brief, and foul in taste as her blood had covered her own mouth, but she had wished it longer. His lips, so soft on one side and rough on the other had given her courage. She'd get through this. She'd come out alive, but then he'd sent her away, riding on the back of his own horse with her sister in her arms. What did that mean? _'Does he believe he's going to die?'_ He'd taken wounds. Probably more than she was even aware of, and he'd been limping. Her heart slammed to a still, sending nothing but cold chills down her spine to grab at her stomach, twisting it and knotting until she felt she was going to puke.

She took in a large breath, feeling the rushing air around her, whipping at her hair, grabbing at Arya's waist tighter with one arm and a hand intertwined in Stranger's hair. No matter how hard she'd pull, he wouldn't turn. The relationship Sandor had with his horse was awing to Sansa. She'd never seen a creature so in tune with a man's thoughts. Sandor had wanted them gone, and here they were, breaking into the trees.

Twigs smacked at the girls' faces, earning yelps and tears from both Sansa and Arya, but Stranger didn't slow down. Sansa watched as Arya tried to pull the horse's mane, screaming at him to stop or go back, but he wouldn't. The wind was so loud, Sansa hadn't heard the other horses, or the men shouting until they were already around them, cornering Stranger and herding him into a small opening in the trees to reveal a meadow with tall sweet grass.

When Stranger finally stopped, Sansa almost began laughing hysterically in relief. Her eyes focused as she wiped the blood and tears away, seeing her mother, Ser Marq Piper, and her brother. She stumbled off the horse, crashing into the grass, scratching her hands and arms against the grain, earning small cuts, but she ran.

Robb ran too.

They embraced, laughing. Sansa could feel Robb's tears streaming down his face, his hand stroking her tangled hair. She heard Arya's own elation as she found the comfort of her mother once again. There were others too, men with direwolves on their chests. _'These men will protect me. They love Robb. I can see it.'_

"Your face," Robb said, tracing the wound that ran from forehead to chin on Sansa's features.

"It's fine now," she said, trying not to think about it. _'Will I bear this scar for the rest of my life?'_

They were few, only about fifteen in the meadow, but Sansa felt as if she were home at Winterfell. She could almost see Theon's snarky face, teasing Robb and Jon teasing Theon. She could hear Rickon and Bran. She could practically smell the snow, yet that smell seemed to just be Robb, as her vision faded and reality set once again.

"Sandor…" she said, her eyes rounding as she looked about, studying each face, hoping to see the one face she'd come to find more beautiful than anything in this world.

"We haven't seen him since he killed Lord Bolton."

"Lord Bolton! But he was your bannerman!" Arya cried out. "I…" Whatever she was going to say next was gone as she closed her mouth, wiggling out of her mother's embrace.

"We thought so too. He would have killed Robb if Clegane hadn't come in," Catelyn said, her eyes still watery from tears yet to fall. Sansa saw how relieved her mother looked, yet so much fear and worry was still trapped in those eyes. _'How much pain can my mother take before she breaks? She's so strong.'_

"I should have listened to him," Robb said, his voice tight. "He'd tried to warn me but I didn't listen. I didn't think…"

"It's not your fault, Robb. Lord Walder Frey broke guest right. He has brought down dishonor upon his House for good. No one could have seen that coming," Catelyn consoled, going to embrace her son's face in her hands.

"He did," Robb retorted.

"How'd The Hound know? Unless he was in on it?" Ser Piper asked.

"We were in the camps, remember?" Sansa defended, her voice on the edge of malice. How dare Ser Piper speak against Sandor! After all he'd done for her, she was certainly not going to allow such distrust. "He would always listen to the men. Watch them too. There was so much tension. He knew."

Ser Piper nodded tightly, swallowing hard. Sansa watched his large Adam's apple move down and back up, like a rooster cocking its head.

"He saved us too," Arya said.

Sansa was surprised that Arya was sticking up for Sandor. They'd started hating each other, and bickering at any moment they got a chance to. It warmed Sansa's heart. Arya would be on Sansa's side when the time came to tell her family her true feelings about Sandor.

"Found us. Killed the man that gave Sansa her cuts." Arya pointed to Sansa's face. "He took us from the Holding Tower down to the stables where he put us on Stranger and smacked him hard. He was wounded. He couldn't walk too well."

"Shame. He served us well in such a short time," Robb said. "I owe him my life, my thanks, and my apologies."

"He's not dead!" Sansa shouted. "He's The Hound! He's strong, and brave and…and…" Tears found their way into Sansa's eyes once more. He had given Stranger to them…but that had left him there, alone and with no way of escape. He couldn't run. _'No…no he can't be dead.'_

Robb met Sansa's eyes, shaking his head. "Sansa, our men were too…incapacitated. We were overpowered. Clegane's life…" He seemed to be struggling for words. "The odds…"

Sansa backed up, shaking her head from side to side like a little girl who didn't want a bath. She bumped into a soldier, who placed his hands on her shoulders lightly. "Don't touch me! He protected me better than any of you ever could! He protected me better than _you!_" Sansa shouted, pointing at Robb. "_And_ you!" Her finger moved to rest upon Lady Catelyn.

"Sansa!" Catelyn said. Her voice was tight, but there was a hint of angered astonishment. "We had no idea what was to come."

"Joffrey killed Father! Sandor was the only one who protected me! He was the only one of the Kingsguard who wouldn't _hit_ me!"

Catelyn's eyes rounded. "They hit you?"

Sansa nodded. "You have to find him. You have to save him!"

"Sansa, be reasonable. We're fifteen. My bannermen are scattered. Some betrayed and some just ran away. I can't win this. We can't go back. They took my officers and our uncle. I can't go back or I'll be killed too. We must go back to Winterfell."

"To do what? Lick your wounds and treat with Joffrey?" Sansa snapped. "You'll hide in your castle with what men to protect you?"

"We'll reassemble and work on rebuilding Winterfell. In the meantime…" Robb exhaled heavily through his nose, like a dragon disposing heat from its body. "In the meantime, we'll think of what to do about King's Landing. Maybe we'll treat with Stannis."

"You can't be serious?" Catelyn said aghast. "That man killed his own brother."

"He's the only one left who has any form of army against Joffrey. We need to go before Frey men come into the woods and start looking for us."

"Where's Grey Wind?" Arya asked suddenly.

Robb's eyes filled with pain as his lips turned into a small line. He seemed to grow older in that moment. "Dead."

Arya gasped, sucking in her lip and biting it hard. Sansa could see her pink lips turning red.

"Mother, I know you don't want this, but I need Jon Snow, and Ghost. As soon as you're back in Winterfell, I'm leaving for The Wall."

Catelyn's mouth twitched, and Sansa could barely see her mother's head shaking against the idea, but Catelyn said nothing.

"We ride now," Robb said about facing and leaping onto his horse. "I need to find a raven and send it to Riverrun. My wife…"

"We can't. Not until you're safe at Winterfell again and our walls restored," Catelyn said as she pulled her horse to walk side-by-side with Robb's.

Sansa tuned out the rest of the conversation. The tips of her fingers were numb, and the pain she'd felt before in her cuts were gone, not from healing, but anguish. Each step seemed to tear her soul into shreds. She kept thinking of Sandor, the apples he'd given her, the harsh, but honest advice, and the first time they kissed. Then she saw his eyes as he made the decision to let her go. _'He loves you… He just never said it.'_ Her realization pained her heart even more. She slowed her horse, turning her head and looking back toward the Twins. She saw the smoke rising as the camps burned. So many men were killed and scattered. How would they ever regroup?

'_My beloved knight, who isn't a knight at all… Are you truly dead?'_ She stopped _his_ horse. He was The Hound! He wasn't some hedge knight or a man without knowledge on battle. He was seasoned, talented and ruthless! He couldn't die like that!

That's when she turned Stranger and ran.

The branches nicked her dress, and sliced at her already cut up face. "Find him, Stranger," she whispered into the horse's ear. He seemed to run faster at that.

"What are you doing?" Arya shouted, clutching onto the horse's hair for her own safety.

"He's not dead! I know it!" Sansa shouted over the pounding hoof beats and the wind. When they broke the tree line, it seemed that all was over. The fires were being slowly put out and Frey men were crawling everywhere, but Sandor was nowhere to be found.

Sansa heard hooves beating behind her and knew if she didn't run from the safety of the trees, that she'd never see Sandor Clegane again.

"Let me help you!" the voice called before Sansa could kick Stranger into a run.

She turned, seeing her brother's face. He looked worried, and more than frightened. "You do this, and you'll die. Let's first look through the woods around here. He wouldn't go into the Twins, but away. If he's on foot, we'll find him."

Sansa smiled, relief clearing the anguished haze of her heart. Robb owed Sandor a debt, and he seemed like he wanted to pay it.

They'd searched the area until the sun came up the next day. But there had been no sign of Sandor Clegane. Catelyn had long since grown tired of their searching and had begged Robb to call off the search. Robb, thankfully didn't listen. While the men were searching, Sansa, and Arya were forced to stay back with their mother, and three Stark men. Stranger seemed to share Sansa's disappointment in being left behind. When Robb returned with Ser Marq Piper and the rest of the men, Sansa's heart sank into the bottom of her stomach.

Robb's eyes were clouded with either apprehension or defeat, Sansa couldn't be sure, but it was his voice that revealed his misery. "Sansa. He's not here. We won't know if he's dead or not unless we reach Winterfell, regroup and send out ravens."

"Let me look. I can find him. I know-"

"Sansa. He took care of you yes, but his goal was to bring you to us. He did that, and for that we are glad. Honor him with your memories," Robb said, cutting her off.

"Why The Hound took care of two Starks I'll never know," Ser Piper said.

"Especially Joffrey's own swordsword," Catelyn agreed. "But I'm not ungrateful."

"He left Joffrey. You must have heard. At the Battle of the Blackwater, he left the battlefield, found me, and took me away. He said if anyone tried to ever hurt me, he'd kill them."

"Sansa," Catelyn said, drawing out her name with a bite of annoyance. "He's not a knight. Do you realize the danger of which he _could_ have placed you in?"

"A knight!" Sansa yelled, cutting her own mother off. "A knight did this to my face. Clegane risked his life for me, countless times, rode into the night, didn't sleep for days, kept me fed, kept me healthy and asked for nothing in return."

"Well, he did want gold after the Brotherhood took all his," Arya interjected. "But he wanted to stay with us!" she added in a hurry as Sansa glared at her.

"The Hound's reputation has never been one for being kind. You and I will talk later, Sansa," Catelyn said, her voice stern and in a tone that did not allow for any more discussion.

Sansa turned to her brother. "Fine. We can-" But before she finished her sentence, there was the sign she'd been looking for. On a tree, she saw a carving. She hurried off her horse, earning her shouts as people ordered her to get back on, but she didn't listen. She went to the tree, tracing the letters with her fingers. _Little Bird_.

"He's alive," she said through a smile. "Robb he's alive!"

Robb dismounted, going over to the tree. "What do y-"

"Look here! He calls me Little bird."

"Oh does he now?" Catelyn spat. "He should address you as a highborn, _lady_."

"Mother!" Robb chastised.

"Here's another!" Arya said, pointing to a tree further away.

They followed the trail. It wove strangely, and several times they found blood. The trail stopped suddenly by a bush. There was no blood or any indication that Sandor had been there. Sansa had never been so confused. Why wasn't he there? What had happened?

"Maybe they found him," Ser Piper said.

"Wait," Arya said, squinting at the bush and getting off Stranger. She went over to the bush, and squeezed her way into it.

"Arya! This is no time-" Catelyn said, but never finished.

"Sansa! I found him! I found The Hound!"

Sansa dismounted, stumbling a bit and rushing into the bush. The leaves pricked at her skin and the twigs tore at her dress but she didn't care. She came through to the other side to see a small cave, big enough for two regular sized men, but only big enough for one if they were the size of Sandor Clegane. Sansa couldn't even leave the bush completely, yet Arya was small enough to squeeze in.

Sansa's heart burst in happiness. _'You're not dead. I knew it."_ Sandor was unconscious and his pants were torn and bloody where his armor didn't cover, but he was here, and he had wanted her to find him. She had never felt so happy. He wanted to stay with her, and he trusted her enough to find him, like he'd found her. No one had ever trusted Sansa with so much before, but he had to have had faith in her! She wanted to cry tears of joy, but now wasn't the time. She couldn't show them her feelings, maybe Robb would understand but her mother didn't seem like she wanted to. But, maybe Robb's feelings would change when Sansa told him the truth? It worried her to the core.

Sansa came out of the bush to the other side again. "He's in a small cave. He's unconscious."

Robb and Ser Piper dismounted. Sansa hadn't noticed it before, but Robb was limping. _'When did he get injured?'_

"Arya, come out of there, we're cutting the bush down," Robb said.

Arya appeared from the bush, with leaves in her hair not but a few moments later. Sansa watched as Robb hacked the bush down with his sword, revealing Sandor's form.

"He needs medical attention," Ser Piper said.

"We're not safe around here. No healer will see to him with us," Catelyn said.

Sandor groaned. They all went silent for a moment, watching with bated breath. Sansa was about ready to explode. She wanted to leap into those arms. His arms were a fortress of their own, which she felt was the only safe place for her. They had to find a healer!

"Help me get him out of there, and be quick about it," Robb said to Ser Piper.

"No Robb, your leg," Lady Catelyn said. "Help him," she said turning to a soldier.

Together, the soldier and Ser Piper pulled Sandor out, earning incoherent curses and more groaning.

"He's got a bad wound in the shoulder," Ser Piper said.

"We'll have to get further away from here before we can start a fire to treat his wounds," Catelyn said. "We can't stay here any longer."

"Aye," Robb said, sighing. "Let him ride one of the horses. We'll have to strap him down so he doesn't fall."

One of the men gave up their horse, and strapped Sandor into the saddle. He took the creature's reins and walked behind everyone as they made their journey north.

Sansa kept looking over her shoulder at Sandor. His eyes fluttered occasionally, and he seemed to murmur, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. Several times she tried to fall back but her mother continued insisting that she stick close to Robb. She'd never been so irritated with her mother! She knew in her heart that her mother was only worrying over her, but she wanted to be with Sandor. His wounds worried her greatly. She wished they could stop and make camp, treat his wounds and allow him rest, but that wasn't possible and she knew it well.

'_I found you. Now don't you dare die on me.'_

* * *

They'd made camp a day later. By then, Sandor's wounds had a sickly sweet smell to them and the first beginnings of infection. They'd boiled some wine from Stranger's packs and treated the wounds. Sandor had howled at the pain until a soldier put a leather belt in his mouth and forced his mouth down on it. Sansa was horrorstricken. She'd never seen Sandor injured like this. She was so shocked to see how vulnerable he really was. He was just like everyone else. It had shaken her core.

They'd found more of their men fleeing north, two days after that, and convinced them to stay and slowly regroup. All of them promised safety within the walls of Winterfell until they could figure out what to do next. About fifty men in total now were with Robb. Sansa admired her brother. He had loyal soldiers, unlike Joffrey.

Sansa had stayed by Sandor, keeping a cool rag on his forehead as they rested at camp. She'd tried to help him eat, but he was too incoherent to understand what she had been trying to do. She bit her lip, tears threatened to fall from her blue eyes, but she couldn't let them. Everyone seemed to be watching her. She almost felt like she was back at King's Landing.

"Blood loss," Robb said, coming to sit next to her. He struggled to sit down, groaning a bit before collapsing to the earth. "He's suffering from blood loss. Not infection. We cleaned it out, or so we think. We'll keep an eye on it though."

"Your leg was injured too," Sansa said, nodding at Robb's bandaged leg.

"Yes, but other than that, I escaped clean. His shoulder wound is deep, and the one on his leg. He's lucky to be alive."

'_He's Sandor Clegane. Of course he's alive.' _ She turned to her brother, casually brushing off what her brother had said, as part of her act. "How bad is it?"

"His leg?" Robb asked.

"No, my face… How bad is it?" She'd been avoiding this question since she'd found them again, several days ago, but while she had washed off the blood, the wound was there. It itched and when she went to scratch it, it began spouting blood all over again.

Robb cupped her cheeks in his hands. They were rougher than before, or maybe she'd just forgotten the touch of his hands. "I'm afraid, you'll bear that scar for the rest of your life."

Sansa swallowed hard, nodding stiffly, she pulled away from Rob, turning back to Sandor, staring at his sleeping form. She allowed her tears to fall finally. She was ruined. Her beauty stolen from her with a single act. Maybe if she'd only pretended to cooperate, she'd be fine. Yet she looked to Sandor's scars. His were covering half his face, exposing bone and twisted skin, holding on over his skull like it was all that mattered. Hers was just a single line. _'You won't care, will you?'_

She'd heard Robb stand up and the sound of his retreating footsteps. She took the rag and brought it over Sandor's face, down to his neck and wiped at the sweat. His brow furrowed and his eyes flittered open. She gave him a small smile.

"Little…bird," he said weakly. His voice was so low it sounded like the rumbling would shatter his ribs, but Sansa knew better. He was stronger than that.

"They say you're without infection," she spoke.

He tried to laugh, but only began choking. "I'm without blood too," he said sarcastically. "And gold…"

"We're going to Winterfell. You'll be fine soon."

"Bugger all that. Will it scar?" At first, Sansa thought he was asking about his own wounds, but his eyes were fixed on the wound on the right side of her face.

"Afraid so," she said softly. _'Will you not care for me anymore?'_

"You're a true wolf now, Little bird. Bring me water."

Sansa stood up, feeling conflicted. A true wolf was good, but why was she so afraid still. He would have told her she was ugly if he thought so, but he'd really never told her she was beautiful either. He only told her what she either pried or he felt necessary. Compliments were unheard of coming from him. Maybe that was his way of saying she was beautiful?

She returned to him with water, and helped him drink it. She honestly hated being his caregiver. She didn't like how weak he was. She wanted her Hound back, not this injured man. She felt guilty, even feeling like that. His end result was because of her, yet she couldn't shake her distaste for his injuries. He was fragile, just like everyone else, and she _hated_ that.

They'd left later that day, once again, Sandor had to be strapped to a horse. Sansa didn't want to be around him this time. Her guilt was eating at her soul like moths to cloth, but she couldn't help it. She didn't like seeing him this way. She wanted the brutal man with the harsh words and the strong arms. She wanted _her_ Sandor, and his rare, but beautiful moments where he showed her just how much he cared. _'Fool. A man like that doesn't exist. Men are just as fragile as women, even if they don't want to believe it.'_

The small host moved silently through the night. Until they were safely away from the Twins and passed the Neck, they were in danger here. They were a week's worth of travel away yet, and still without a proper healer. No one seemed to want to care for Sandor, and thus Sansa would continue, even if she didn't like it. She prayed to the gods when they came across the Neck that he'd heal to his full capacity again.

More guilt attacked her heart, and as if her body was betraying her, a single tear slid from her eye, following the scar on her face.

* * *

Song: Plug In Baby by Muse


	17. Chapter 17

Sorry for the slowed updates. I'm in a Statistics course for the summer but this is the last week, still though, I won't be updating as fast as I was before until I'm out of the class. So don't expect another update for a week. Thank you all so much for the continued support and wonderful things said. It really does mean a lot to me.

* * *

_Well, Some nights, I wish that this all would end_  
_ Cause I could use some friends for a change_  
_ And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again_  
_ Some nights, I always win, I always win..._

_Chapter 17_

They had crossed The Neck and had set up a camp within a clearing of trees. Robb had seemed to relax, as he even allowed fires to be started in the dead of night. This was his land. He had a right to feel pompous here, or so Sansa felt. It was still a long journey to Winterfell, but Robb had been discussing plans with his host. He was sending out some men to spread the word that he had returned to the North, and he was going to build again. The subject of swearing fealty though, was left out. Sansa worried over that. If Joffrey didn't get what he wanted, he'd find a way to take it.

She sat next to a fire, braiding her hair off to the side of her face. With having so many men to gather wood, hunt, and find water, she had little to do out here beside take care of Sandor. He'd grown stronger since a week ago as well. The color had returned to his face, and he was more lucid. He walked with a limp though.

Sansa hated that.

After Sandor had started walking about, Robb seemed to be glued to his side. It had grown annoying to Sansa. Robb had said his apologies time and time again, yet he always found more ways to say he regretted not listening to Sandor. Robb had promised a lot of gold to Sandor. Sansa wasn't even sure Winterfell had it. It had been sacked. How was Robb going to find that gold?

"Little bird, you aiming to be as ugly as me?" a rough voice called over the soft crackling of the fire. She saw Sandor's form shift on his furs, moving closer to her.

"What?" she asked.

"Your brow is creased. Been that way for a while now too," he answered, shrugging. Sansa honestly felt that the feelings they had shared had dwindled away. He didn't look at her the same anymore, and she found more fault than good in Sandor. She didn't like how he limped, or how he laughed with Robb, or how he drank most of the men under the figurative table. _'I thought I loved him. What's happened?'_

"I'm thinking," she retorted tightly.

"Bout?" He scratched at the scars on his face.

"I don't know how Robb is going to pay you that gold. Winterfell was sacked."

"He'll get it." he replied, picking at his nails. "Or I'll just take it."

"You wouldn't do that to my brother." Her words were hushed, yet there was a double-edged sword in her tone. Her words spoke more of a threat than an observation.

"Used to think you wouldn't give me the cold shoulder either. Yet your brow is still creased."

"And what do you care?" she snapped. "You should worry about your own face. Or your bloody hair. You've got to comb it just right so no one can see how bald you are on one side!" _'No…No I'm sorry, I didn't mean that.'_ Sansa watched the hurt drown Sandor's eyes. He shifted, moving away from her and resting on his side.

"I thought you looked…"

Sansa waited, hanging on the edge of his sentence, but he shrugged, sighed and curled into himself. _'No…I didn't mean it. I didn't…I'm not angry with you… I'm angry with me!'_

She stood up, huffing as her she went. She winced again as she assumed he'd think her annoyance was with him. It wasn't! He'd done so much for her; risking his life, finding her food, taking care of her when she was sick… The list could go on and on. Yet she was trying to find so many faults in him to keep up with the faults she had started seeing in her own reflection. That was what all of this was about! She was sure of it now.

Her scab down her face was almost healed, but in its wake, there was a raised line, a bit lighter in skin color than the rest of her face. It was all she could see on herself anymore. It was ugly. She'd grown so angry because of it. She wanted to forget her anger, or her need to find imperfection, but Sandor already knew he was imperfect. In fact, he was acutely aware of it. She'd insulted him.

Her eyes cradled warm tears as she continued walking away from him. She could recall back to when she first saw his face. She was disgusted at it. He had been so ugly to her when Joffrey was there, shining with all his golden hair and bright eyes. She hadn't realized just how ugly Joffrey was until it was too late. Sandor had been there to protect her. He wasn't the kindest, but he was blunt, and everything he said, Sansa knew it to be true. She'd trusted him. She still did trust him.

He'd given up everything for her. He'd lost his place in the Kingsguard, his home, everything. _'He stuffed me away in a sack. But I shared my first kiss with him. He returned me home.'_ She sighed, turning around to look at his form over the fire. The flames made his image shake, but he wasn't sleeping. Guilt filled her heart with led. _'I need to apologize. Now.' _

She started to walk back when her mother stepped into view. "Sansa, I said we needed to talk later. It's been a week since we started this conversation. I insist we have it now."

"What conversation, Mother?" Sansa asked, her gaze going back to Sandor to make sure he was still awake.

"Clegane." Lady Catelyn took Sansa by the arm, and together they began walking to the outskirts of camp.

"Mother…"

"No. Listen to me. Speak only when spoken to." Catelyn went silent for a moment, before sighing and speaking once more. "You've been taking care of him."

"As he took care of me," Sansa said. "Mother-"

Catelyn cut her off by saying, "Did he force himself upon you? Are you still a maiden?"

The question was so shocking that Sansa had forgotten how to speak for a moment. She went back, thinking of her long kiss with him and how her heart felt like it was going to explode. He'd tasted just like she'd have expected; a bit sour, earthy and sharp. Then she thought of their soft kiss before he sent her off into the woods on Stranger. She hadn't felt it long enough.

"Sansa, answer me now." Catelyn's very soul seemed to bore into her daughter. Sansa couldn't take her gaze.

"I'm a maiden. Clegane never even brought it up," Sansa said.

"Did he touch you at all?"

"Wh- No! Mother he was as good as a proper host! He's not like regular men. He's above them, even if he chooses to deny it." Her own words made her see how foolish she'd been acting. He was above other men. Some men may have run away from Sansa's scar, but Sandor had embraced it. Some men would have raped her and left her for dead when it became convenient, but Sandor had never left her side. Yes, he was better than most men. _'And he deserves better treatment from me.'_

"Good. We're going to be looking for a husband for you. Preferably someone in the North. Robb wants someone South, but I don't trust any of them. Thinks if we get Southern allies, we can intimidate Joffrey."

"You're what?" Sansa felt her heart freeze. Marriage? A husband? "No, I'm not ready."

"You were ready for Prince Joffrey," her mother reminded.

"That was different. I was a fool. I'm not ready."

"You've had your moonblood yes? I did when I was around your age."

"…Yes," Sansa said through gritted teeth.

"Then it's time we find you a husband to protect you." Catelyn nodded, releasing Sansa's arm and walking back to her tent.

Sansa wanted to scream. To her, she felt that wartime was the worst possible time to find a marriage, especially after Roose Bolton had betrayed Robb and the South seemed very much determined to remove Robb from the list of the living. She stomped back to Sandor, trying to calm herself down.

"Are you awake?" she asked. His response was a grunt. She sat down, sitting as close as she could to him without drawing attention. "I wanted to apologize. What I said was rude and-"

"Quit chirping. You said what was true. Why should I be angry about it?" He didn't move to face her, which sent another spasm of guilt through Sansa's body.

"Because…we care for each other. Probably more than we should."

That's when he rolled over to look at her. She looked over the scars on his face, but they only reminded herself of how ugly she'd become. She turned, trying to block her scar with her hair.

"It's not as bad as you think, Little bird."

"I'm hideous," she said softly. Her words earned a loud laugh from Sandor. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"If you're hideous, then I'm beyond revolting."

Sansa giggled softly. She wanted to move into his arms and rest her head against his chest. "You never give compliments."

"Aye. Compliments are for craven whelps and girls."

She folded her legs under her, moving so that her knees touched his side. "I'm a girl."

"Oh really? Hadn't noticed," he said sarcastically.

Sansa was relieved. After their week of awkward conversation, strange glances and Sansa's need to find something wrong with everyone, she'd thought that they were at an end. Yet this man before her was the man she'd come to love. He was rough around the edges, but if one could sneak between those grooves, there was a beautiful center. She took in a breath, preparing to say three, small words to Sandor, but she couldn't bring herself to say them. She looked around at the soldiers, her tent of which her mother was residing in with Arya and then to Robb's. _'I'm to be married. I don't want to be married.'_

"Your brow is creased again…" Sandor said. "What's the matter this time?"

"My mother wants to marry me off." She tried to read Sandor's face, but it was as if he hadn't even heard her. He was staring at the fire, blinking a bit slowly like he was fighting sleep.

"I'm sure you'll make some lord happy."

A bit of immature glee flittered through Sansa. While his tone was apathetic, she knew what he truly meant. She was glad that after how she'd been treating him, he still cared for her. "I don't want "some lord."

Sandor sat up, groaning a bit as he moved his legs. "You don't have a fucking choice, Little bird."

"And who says this?" she defended.

"Did you have a choice with Joffrey?"

The words hit her hard. He was right. She hadn't had a choice. Her father and King Robert had arranged the marriage. She sat back, bringing her legs out from under her. "I…I don't want anyone else."

"You can't marry me, Sansa."

"I don't want to marry _anyone_ right now! I care for you. I know this, and I'm sure I'd be happy with you, but I don't want to be wed! I'm not ready. I can barely take care of myself. How would I run a household and raise children? Or, what if I got a child like Arya! Gods forbid, I don't know what I'd do! Or-"

"You'll remember all your chirps and songs and go on with life the way your septa trained you."

Sansa's gaze locked on Sandor's. He was giving up. He was trying to convince her that she'd be fine. _'I don't want to be away from you.'_ She felt a tear fall from a single eye, but brushed it away quickly. "And where would you be?"

He took a long time to respond. As he was thinking, Sansa was panicking. She had to tell Robb. She had to say something soon or they'd send her away and she'd never see Sandor again. She could get used to the idea of having a family if it was with him, but not with a stranger! She trusted him. He was above all men in her eyes. She didn't want anyone else.

"I'd be always thinking of you."

The words melted her heart. Tears fell faster from her eyes. She quickly looked around again, still seeing patrolling soldiers. Why didn't Sandor get to have a tent as well? He was injured! "I love you." She had been withholding those words for quite some time, always replacing them with "care," but she'd meant it for so long. She wanted the moment where she finally said it to be perfect, but it never was. There was always something wrong or out of place. She was afraid if she hadn't said it now, she'd never get to say it.

Sandor looked away, his gaze going back to the fire. "You should go to sleep, Little bird. I'm sure your mother doesn't want you out here with me any longer."

"I _love_ you," she said more forcefully, her hands reaching up to cup his face.

He jerked away. "Please don't make me say it too."

Sansa held back a sob as she nodded in defeat. She knew he loved her. She just felt if he'd said it, he'd fight for her. But he seemed to be done fighting. So she stood, giving a curtsey and retreating to her tent. She'd brushed away her tears before she entered the flap at the entrance. _'If he won't fight for me, then I'll just have to fight for him.'_

Sansa watched with bored eyes as the soldiers broke down the camp. With luck, Robb and his host would be able to get through the swamps of Greywater and be up past Moat Cailin in another week. Sansa had heard stories about the Greywater swamps and the floating island of House Reed. She wondered if they'd find the islands.

She gave Sandor a polite nod as she watched him get on Stranger, but all he did was kick Stranger into a trot behind the soldiers. She wanted to charge her own horse at him and demand he at least say hello, but she knew it was childish. He was hurting, just as much as she was.

"Sansa," Arya called coming to pause her horse next to Sansa's. "Did you two get into a fight?"

"I told him that Mother wants me to marry."

"So you tell her you choose him," Arya retorted, shrugging like it wasn't an issue.

"I don't have a choice with who marries me," Sansa said back. Her voice held a hint of irritation.

"You don't? Huh." Arya kicked her horse, breaking into a canter. Sansa laughed as she watched their mother chase her down, chastising her about how horses were herd animals and if one ran they all would. She pursed her lips, thinking on what Arya said, but the girl was a child! She hadn't even had her first bleeding. _'Maybe I should still tell Robb.'_

The journey from the meadow up into the swamps wasn't easy. The horses wouldn't go through parts of the swamps and two of the men had gone under to never come back up. The water wasn't just water though. There were so many _things_ in it. It made Sansa's skin crawl.

She watched as Stranger went through the swamp like he'd always done this. The trust that both horse and rider had in each other was astounding. Sansa had never enjoyed horses, but she was fast used to them. She was sure she'd never have a connection to an animal like that, at least not now. _'I did once with Lady.'_

"We shouldn't have come this way," Robb said as he struggled with his horse to reach some higher ground. "I can't lose any more men."

"What about the Reeds?" Arya asked.

"They cannot be found, Arya," Catelyn said. "That's how they've escaped so many dangers in the world."

Arya sighed, kicking at her horse to move forward but the animal had decided the swamp was too thick here.

"We need to get back and go around," Robb said.

"The Hound's doing fine," Arya noted.

Sansa watched as Robb's gaze found Sandor. He was waiting on a spot of dry earth, petting Stranger on the neck. "We need to turn around!" he shouted at Sandor.

"There's a village up here?" Sandor said, sounding quite confused to Sansa's astonishment.

"A village?" Robb said aghast. He forced his horse further, moving the animal into the swamp to come stand next to Sandor and Stranger. Sansa thought Robb's horse looked like a pony compared to Sandor's.

"This way!" Robb shouted, plunging his horse back into the swamp, Sandor at his side. Sansa watched them, they spoke to each other about something she couldn't hear, and even saw Robb smile. She wished that she were already promised to Sandor, and that Robb and Sandor were talking as people often did before they became family. _'If I have to marry now, I want it to be Sandor Clegane.'_

Sansa forced herself out of her fantasy, nudging her horse forward, following Sandor and Robb. When she came to the dry patch of earth, her eyes widened in shock. There before them were islands in the swamps, all attached by bridges or ropes. There were small huts, and other structures on the floating islands. There at the front, walking to greet Robb was a man with a dark green tunic on, and sewn on was a large lizard-lion. "House Reed. This is where the crannogmen live?" Sansa questioned, but no one answered.

* * *

Song: Some Nights by FUN

As a general sidenote, this story will be seeing its closing soon. /saying it now so I don't just keep going because it's fun!/


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